


no one ever tried like you

by petitepeach



Series: maybe it starts now [5]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but it's one of my fics so, excessive use of extended metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 10:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitepeach/pseuds/petitepeach
Summary: But that’s what it’s like with Eliott. Lucas doesn’t think he can become any happier, and then he does. Just like that.It’s his final thought before he drifts off, how he never thought it could be like this, so good that it aches.He never wants to lose it.or, there's heartache in these galaxies





	no one ever tried like you

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while since we've been back with these mecs - i missed my babies :')))
> 
> this was originally was supposed to be around 9k?? i don't even know what happened
> 
> title from the song 'she reigns' by self esteem
> 
> i hope y'all like it!!

The thing is, every human is a living galaxy.

Think of all the versions of you that exist inside of one body: the you that exists amongst your closest friends, the you that exists when ordering a coffee, the you that exists on public transport.

Perhaps there are versions of you still to be discovered, like distant moons unknown to our farthest-reaching telescopes: the you that knows how to cook with herbs, the you that longs for love between the hours of 2 and 5 a.m., the you that sits alone in cinemas and eats popcorn without worrying if you look beautiful while doing it.

Lucas Lallemant is a solar system of the self, much like you and I. He wears the face of Pluto for his father, distant and freezing cold to touch, so small it fades, fades… It is not so different from the face he wore for his ex-boyfriend, belittled and hurt and given love only in pieces of ice that melted in desperate hands. But here is the warm-hued Jupiter of friendship, the bringer of jollity and jubilation, the swirling colours of a hug from your best friend when you need it most. And here is the cooling waters and soft grass of Earth, here is the Lucas that sits next to his mother and listens and laughs and heals, wildflowers growing from a crack in broken pavement.

And here, _here_ is the Lucas that was born when Eliott Demaury touched him for the first time, the scorching plains of Venus mapped out by the careful, reverent fingers of a lover. Here is Lucas watching Eliott do nothing at all, nothing memorable, but burning from the inside out, so bright that it’s like one of those nights where you can stand at the end of your driveway and you’re tilting your head back, craning your neck up, because you can see Venus tonight. Look, there it is. Look how it shines.

The galaxy of Eliott is unknown to him yet, as mysterious as it is beautiful, a place of stars, meteors and nebulas, impossibly colourful and delicate like the veins in a wrist that Lucas’ fingers ache to trace. There are the Eliotts he has seen: the Eliott that thought Lucas was his boyfriend from the first night they spent together, the sweet, doting one that picks him up from work and says _you’re beautiful_ while his hands brush Lucas’ hair back from his forehead. There’s the Eliott that talks endlessly about his favourite artists and his favourite films, passionate and opinionated, but then there’s the Eliott Lucas saw at the art gallery, shy and fearful of judgement. There’s the cheeky Eliott amongst his friends, the solitary Eliott that goes quiet and withdrawn, and there’s the Eliott that exists only at night, pressed between warm bedsheets, insatiable, shameless, whispering things into Lucas’ ear that make him blush for weeks afterwards.

Lucas does not know every version of Eliott that exists within him but he’s sure he wants to know them, sure as he was when he first saw Eliott’s paintings.

He’s sure he could love every single one. Every star in his galaxy.

But humans are fragile, lovelorn things. We trip over our pasts and burn our present down to ashes and sometimes, when someone might look at us and say, _there’s a nebula of colour, a wonder of light and magic and mystery_, we hold a mirror up to our own night sky and we stare into the black and we think, _I don’t see a thing._

___

  
  


He comes by the bookshop to pick Lucas up whenever he’s free now, loitering by the poetry section, talking to Hugo at the counter, leaning against a wall and just generally being a nuisance to Lucas, distracting him from work and causing a stir in the store—enough that Samantha unearths from the romance section, slinking up behind Lucas one day when he’s reorganizing a display table.

“Um. Who is _that_?” She whispers, face hidden behind a paperback with a drawing of a man wearing a billowing white shirt and skin-tight trousers on the cover.

Lucas sighs. “That’s Eliott.”

Over the top of the book, Samantha’s eyes are wide, fixed on where Eliott is browsing a display of classic reprints. He’s wearing jeans and a button-down shirt that’s only half-buttoned, his hair is fluffy, and he’s still got his summer tan. He looks criminally good.

“Okay.” Samantha says. “But _who_ is he? Why does he keep hanging around here?” She turns her eyes on Lucas for a moment, who frowns at her. “Did they hire him? To bring in more street traffic or something? Remember the shirtless guys that used to stand outside of Abercrombie?”

“Oh my god, no, that’s not—” Lucas huffs and straightens a stack of paperbacks that’s already straight. “That’s so fucking weird. Why would you even—” He glances back at Eliott, and sees a group of teenagers pass through the propped-open double doors at the front of the shop. There are four girls and two guys, and all of them stare at Eliott as they pass, one of the girls reaching over to slap one of the guys on the arm. “I mean,” Lucas says, squinting at the group. “I don’t think we could legally pay someone to do that anymore.”

“Is he single?” Samantha’s practically vibrating next to him. “Do you think he’s single? Is it possible for a man that beautiful to be single?”

“He’s not single.” Lucas interrupts, surprising even himself with how sharp his response is.

Samantha blinks at him. “What are you…” Her eyes widen even further. “Wait. Oh my god. Are you telling me—”

“Shut. Up.” Lucas hisses. “You don’t need to blurt it to the entire store, for fuck’s sake.”

Samantha acts like she hasn’t heard him. “Oh my god. Oh my _god. Lucas._” She grips onto Lucas’ arm with one hand, shakes it. “Do you have a boyfriend? Holy shit! Do you? This is so exciting! Holy shit!”

Lucas opens his mouth to say something, maybe something sarcastic, definitely something deflective, and that’s the moment Eliott glances up from a Sylvia Plath paperback and catches Lucas staring at him.

Eliott doesn’t do anything other than smile, but it’s a gentle smile, a private one that speaks of Lucas waking up pressed against Eliott’s back, listening to his gentle breaths and burying his face in Eliott’s hair. It speaks of sweet blushes and shy eyes, of promises whispered into warm skin, of text messages that say, **_I can’t wait to see you._**

It’s a smile of intimacy and excitement and ease all at once, a _there you are_ intimately entwined with an _I’m here._

It makes Lucas drop the book he’s holding onto, makes a burning blush rise to the surface of his cheeks.

He says softly to Samantha, “Yeah. We’re together.”

Samantha squeals, her excitement such a living, breathing thing that she throws her arms out, her book flying from her hands and smacking Lucas in the face.

“Sorry Lucas,” she says, picking the paperback up again and kissing her fingertip, pressing it to his forehead. “This is just the best news I’ve heard all _month_.”

It’s gone like this for most of the summer: Eliott will show up at the Three Fates and read until Lucas’ shift is done, or Lucas will loiter at a back table in the Fleurs Sauvages café and drink free coffee until Eliott can finally take off his apron. Whenever they can, they wait for each other. Their coworkers know them by name now, know that they’re together, and take that as reason enough to tease them mercilessly. Lucas acts like the attention bothers him when really, it makes him indescribably happy. And maybe a bit smug.

He enters the café on a gloomy evening in September, a week before classes begin again, and it’s busy inside, people packed into every free table, boisterous conversation drowning out the sound of the espresso machines, the windows fogging up from the humid flush of bodies.

Lucas steps around a particularly full table, nodding when of his classmates waves at him, and then there’s someone passing by him in a rush, and Lucas registers red hair, a checked apron and the press of glossy lips against his cheek.

“Hi, gorgeous!” Émile chirps into his ear, breezing away with a tray full of empty mugs balanced in one hand. Lucas follows her to the counter, leaning against the side of it while she disappears behind the double doors to the kitchen, reappearing with her hands empty. “Your boyfriend is in the back,” she tells Lucas, flicking a stray hair away from her face. “He’s been on dish duty today.”

The first time Lucas met Émile was when he and Eliott had first made it official. He’d been waiting for Eliott to finish his shift for only a few minutes before a latte was placed in front of his with a pair of impressively detailed boobs drawn in the microfoam. He’d looked up, and had been met with a tall, pretty girl with red hair piled into a messy bun on her head and a sleeve of floral tattoos on her left arm. She had smiled him like a shark, and said, _so you’re the one Eliott can’t stop talking about._

“That’s fine, I can wait.” Lucas props up his elbows on the counter. “How’s it been today?”

“Fucking busy, seriously.” Émile waves a hand out to the overfilled tables, to the chairs squeezed in at corners, to the stacks of empty plates. “It’s been like this since we opened. I swear, I hate it when all the students come back.”

“Right, except you’re a student too.”

“I know that, smartass, but I’m also local.” She wiggles her fingers at him. “I miss the days in June where it was just me and the tourists. Americans tip so _much_.” She sighs dreamily as she pulls a mug out from under the counter and turns to the espresso machine. “Anyway, I’m going to start working a lot less now, so it doesn’t really matter.”

Lucas yawns into his hand, resting his cheek on his palm. “What classes do you have this semester?”

Émile turns away from the gurgling espresso machine, flicking the stubborn strand of hair away from her face again with a huff. “I’ve got my senior thesis this year, so that’s like, pretty much all of my time.” The espresso machine makes an unhappy sound and she swears, hitting three buttons on it in succession until it hisses loudly, brown liquid pouring into the mug. “But I can also take some studio electives, so I’m in this experimental drawing class with Eliott that looks sick.”

“Yeah, Eliott mentioned it.”

Émile smirks at him. “Of course he did.” She slams a steel pot of steamed milk onto the counter once, then pours it over the espresso. She wags her eyebrows at Lucas. “Has he asked you to model for him yet?”

Lucas can feel his face flush, but he doesn’t shy away from her gaze. “Yeah. Nudes, mostly.”

She cackles, tilting the mug in her hand as she finishes pouring the milk with a flourish. “Ah, I like you, Lallemant.” She sets the mug down in front of Lucas. It’s a latte with a wonky penis drawn in the foam. “That’s for you.”

“Thanks.” Lucas grins. He takes a photo of the latte and posts it to his Instagram story, tagging her account in it. “You really are an artist.”

“My dicks are getting better.” Émile says cheerily. “Definitely not as good as I do boobs, but…we been knew.”

Lucas snorts into the coffee.

The door to the kitchen bursts open, and Eliott steps out, sliding his arms into a black denim jacket, dragging his backpack behind him, eyes skating across the café. He looks tired, hair mussed and the hollows under his eyes shadowed, but when his gaze lands on Lucas, he lets out a happy squeal and bounces over.

Lucas straightens up just as Eliott comes barrelling into him, holding Lucas tight around the middle, lifting him from the floor into a hug. Lucas giggles into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around Eliott’s neck.

“I missed you.” Eliott murmurs, mouth pressed against the side of Lucas’ head.

Really, it’s only been a handful of days since they last saw each other, not an unreasonable amount of time, and Lucas thinks the person he was a year ago would gag at this, at how blatantly sappy they are. He would make fun of a relationship like that, while silently wishing that one day, he could have a relationship like that.

But this Lucas, the person he is right now, melts into Eliott’s arms and whispers in his ear, “I missed you too.” His feet touch back to the ground and he’s tilting his head up as Eliott is leaning down, and they meet in the middle, a gentle press of lips that keeps getting broken up by smiles, teeth bumping together awkwardly. Lucas pulls away to laugh and Eliott follows him, burying his face in Lucas’ neck and crushing their bodies together, swaying them on the spot.

“Oh…my god,” Émile whispers, hands pressed against her face. “How is it possible you two keep getting worse?”

Lucas opens his mouth, offended, but Eliott beats him to it, waving a hand out and laughing. “Please. As if you and Anita weren’t this bad when you first got together.”

“We were never as bad as you two!”

“Uh huh. Just keep telling yourself that,” Eliott says pleasantly. He shrugs on his backpack and steers Lucas away from the counter with an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Lucas glances back at Émile to stick his tongue out at her, paragon of maturity that he is. She flips him off in return, chugging the rest of his latte, ignoring the small queue that’s built up in the time they were talking.

It’s getting dark when they step out onto the street, the setting sun like burning embers on the horizon, alighting the low clouds in shades of red, pink and purple. The door shuts behind them, and with the slam disappears the raucous conversations, the clinking of cutlery, the clatter of cups on saucers. The street is still busy, the intersection near the university clogged with cars and pedestrians, but outside of the café, it feels different, a sense of anonymity coming with the approaching night. It feels like it’s just him and Eliott, and the rest of the world becomes as fogged as the glass window he’s leaning against, waiting for Eliott to unlock his bicycle.

Lucas watches the way the light plays over Eliott’s hands, watches how shadows curve and dip between his knuckles, how the tendons flex with every minute motion. They had plans to see a movie, something that was actually Lucas’ idea, but now that he’s in front of Eliott, he doesn’t think he could sit through a two-hour film next to him and not be allowed to touch him in the way he wants. He hasn’t felt Eliott's hands on him in days, and he missed him. He missed Eliott like flowers miss the summer sun.

He would fear that it’s too much, too soon. That his heart is rocketing to space while his mind is struggling to stay planted on earthy ground. He would tell himself to pull back, to protect his own heart from impending destruction, the way he did at the gallery, but that's what they promised each other they wouldn't do. They're together, they're learning to trust each other, and Lucas saw the way Eliott was looking at him in the café. He felt the way Eliott was holding him, as if worried Lucas might disappear. He was the one that went on break at the bookstore before lunch to find a text from Eliott on his phone that said, **_I dreamt about you last night._**

“Hey,” Lucas says slowly, pushing himself away from the window. “I know we planned to go to the cinema, but…do you want to go to mine instead?”

He stops on the other side of the bike, tapping his fingers across the seat. Eliott slowly stands from his squat on the curb, steadying one hand on the bike’s handlebars, resting his other on top of Lucas’, grinning. “I think I could do that.”

“Yeah?” Lucas asks, swaying forward, his body leaning over the bike.

Eliott exhales a soft _yeah _in response, dipping his head down until he can kiss high on Lucas’ cheekbone, lips lingering on the skin. “I want to go anywhere I can be alone with you,” he says, breath warm on Lucas’ face.

Lucas swallows. “Well,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against Eliott’s, “that’s good, because I happen to know that Yann is out for the night.”

Eliott’s grin widens. “Really?”

"Mhm." Lucas’ forehead brushes against Eliott’s as he nods. “So we can…” He exhales shakily as Eliott’s nose skims across his cheek. “We can…”

He’s not sure who moves first, but it doesn’t matter because they weren’t kissing, and now they are, pressed together over the top of Eliott’s bicycle, Lucas’ free hand dancing up Eliott’s arm and clutching at the back of his neck. Their mouths open together on a gasp and Lucas knows that they’re kissing in a way that’s far too intimate for a sidewalk in Paris on a Wednesday night, knows that they’re probably two seconds away from being cat-called by someone passing by.

He knows this, but it makes it no easier to stop, especially not when he pulls away and Eliott bites down on his bottom lip, tugging on it gently.

“Jesus _Christ_,” Lucas breathes, blinking open his eyes to the awakening stars and the flickering streetlight above them.

“Nope, just me.”

Lucas smacks Eliott on the arm, and they both burst into laughter, clutching at each other’s hands in a playful scuffle over the bicycle. It works at breaking the tension, a little, just enough that Lucas can look at Eliott without feeling like he’s about to burst into flames.

“Okay.” Lucas says on a giggle, his shoulders shaking. “Let’s go, then.”

“Okay,” Eliott repeats, staring at Lucas in a way that makes the tips of Lucas’ ears redden. He untangles their fingers to tap a hand to the bike seat. “Hop on.”

“Oh, Eli no, it really didn’t go well last time we—”

“It’ll be fine.” When Lucas still looks dubious, Eliott laughs. “It will be! Also, we can get to yours a lot faster this way than we would walking.”

That is…an effective argument. “Fine,” Lucas huffs, throwing a leg over the seat to straddle it. “Just give me your backpack.”

It’s a rough start when they first turn onto the street, Eliott leaning left and Lucas leaning right, resulting in a near collision with an oncoming car. Eliott swears loudly and Lucas cackles at him, laughing even harder when Eliott makes a rude hand gesture over his shoulder.

Eliott rights them and they start again, Lucas on the seat, with his feet tucked up on the chain stay, Eliott standing on the pedals, steering them through campus and into the neighbourhood beyond it, taking the route to Lucas’ place that he’s become familiar with, cutting through a park and taking a sharp left down a narrow side street. There’s another near-collision, when Eliott slips on one of the pedals and falls back into Lucas’ lap, but somehow, by some miracle, they stay upright.

As Lucas careens down the winding streets on the back of Eliott’s bike, his hands clutching at Eliott’s hoodie, the cool, damp air whipping past his ears, and both of them laughing, always laughing together, he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt as happy as he does right in that moment. As though the entire universe is holding him in its palms and saying, _this is what we’ve wanted for you, always._

It’s a struggle getting up Lucas’ steps.

As soon as Lucas locks the door to the entryway, stooping to pick up some mail, Eliott is there, pressing Lucas the wall and kissing him, deeply, desperately, his bike crashing into the opposite wall with a series of catastrophic noises Lucas is sure his neighbours can hear.

“Fuck.” Lucas grunts against Eliott’s mouth. “Fuck, Eliott, _wait_, my neighbours, can you just—”

And as soon as he was there, Eliott is gone, taking a full step backwards from Lucas, leaving him confused, breathless and so turned on he might actually _die._

“Sorry,” Eliott says sheepishly. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“You,” Lucas sighs, “are unbelievable.” He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Eliott’s heaving chest, or his bright eyes, or how his tongue comes out to wet his lips. “You have to carry your bike, so. You can go first.”

Eliott shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll take longer.”

But he seems fine as they go up, following Lucas’ pace easily, carrying his bike on one of his shoulders. He seems to be even less out of breath than Lucas, which pisses him off as much as it makes his head swim with fantasy.

“Stupid baby giraffe legs.” Lucas mutters to himself. “You definitely could have gone first.”

“But this is a great view.” Eliott says dreamily. “Makes me want to paint.”

Lucas shoots him a withering glance over this shoulder.

The apartment is dark when they get inside, empty and cold and covered in thin shadows, silent except for the creaking coming from next door, and the sounds of traffic filtering in through the open kitchen window. Lucas is running through a dozen scenarios in his head, of what will happen now that they’re finally alone, populating their own galaxy behind a closed door. The scenario he’s most hoping for is that Eliott will prop his bike up against the hall closet, and then proceed to ravish Lucas up against a wall. Or something equally cliché, straight out of the romance novels Samantha reads. Lucas thinks he wouldn’t mind something cliché.

Eliott does park his bike against the closet, and peels off his hoodie, dropping it onto the floor, but after that he stands there, hands on his hips, eyes fixed on where Lucas stands awkwardly next to the door.

“What?” Lucas asks.

Eliott shrugs, those eyes roaming from the top of Lucas’ head down to his feet, then back up, his gaze warm enough that it feels like a caress. “You look nice in my jacket.” He says finally.

Lucas glances down, blushing, even though he knows he’s wearing it. He’d been cold on the way home, only in his sweater, and Eliott hadn’t hesitated to offer it. The sleeves are a little long, folding over Lucas’ hands, but it’s surprisingly warm for denim. And it smells like Eliott.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’d look better not wearing it?” Lucas jokes weakly.

Eliott just shakes his head.

“Well,” Lucas slides the jacket off his arms and carefully hangs it on the coat rack. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

“No problem.”

They’re standing still, two chemical substances at opposite sides of the hallway, staring at each other in a silence charged with electricity, waiting for inevitable collision.

Lucas moves first, taking a small step towards Eliott, then another, more confidently, then another, coming close enough that he can smell Eliott’s deodorant, barely masking his sweat and the faint smell of coffee. It’s not sexy, it’s really not, but there’s something about the combination that pulls somewhere underneath Lucas’ ribcage, to a deep, primal place.

“Okay,” Lucas breathes, reaching for Eliott’s belt buckle. “I need to blow you. Like, right now.”

Eliott makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and Lucas looks up to meet this eyes.

“Can I?” He asks, and Eliott nods, exhaling a shaky _please_ into Lucas’ hair.

Lucas wastes no time after that, getting Eliott’s jeans open and shoving them down his thighs along with his briefs. He drops to his knees, and Eliott lets out a long, low groan.

“I haven’t even touched you yet.” Lucas teases, rucking Eliott’s shirt up to press a lingering kiss to his stomach.

“I just know.” Eliott says nonsensically. Lucas bites down on his hip bone and Eliott’s body jolts forward. “Fuck.” Eliott gasps. His head thumps against the wall. “It’s so unfair. I have no stamina around you.”

Lucas giggles, pressing his face into Eliott’s thigh.

Eliott’s already half-hard, hips rocking forward in small, aborted movements. Lucas takes him in hand, breathing against him and dragging his tongue up the side and smiling when Eliott swears softly, one of his hands carding through Lucas’ hair.

He looks so ruined already, his cheeks flushed, his lips red and bitten, his mouth open, panting, his abs contracting with every touch to his skin, his eyes shut, lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. The sight of him gives Lucas that same pulling under his ribs, that same feeling of wild attraction. He feels unhinged with it.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Lucas whispers, and then he’s opening his mouth wide, and Eliott lets out another groan, long and rough and so deep Lucas can feel it vibrate throughout his entire body, and Lucas is closing his eyes, letting himself focus on the weight of Eliott in his mouth, the sounds he makes, the taste of him on Lucas’ tongue. It’s blissful, being able to touch Eliott like this, to see a side of him that’s so private, and to know that Lucas is the only one who gets to see Eliott like this. He’s the only one.

_Mine_, Lucas thinks, the word rolling into his consciousness unbidden, unprompted, but intoxicating once it’s there, like a shot of tequila to his senses. He remembers that night when they became official boyfriends, when they’d been having sex under Eliott’s transparent stars and Eliott had said the same word to Lucas, low and rushed, but audible.

Mine.

Lucas pulls off on a sharp inhale, gasping greedily on air, preparing to go right back down, but Eliott’s hands move from his hair to the sides of his neck and he’s tugging Lucas upwards, bringing him to his feet.

He kisses Lucas before he can say anything, and Lucas whines into it, lets Eliott taste himself on his tongue, crushing their bodies together so Lucas’ hands are trapped between them.

“Eliott.” Lucas pants between one kiss and the next. “Please, I need—”

“I know, baby.” Eliott says. His hands move to the bottom of Lucas’ hoodie and he’s pulling it up, off, Lucas’ t-shirt following and Lucas shivers at the sudden cold, but Eliott’s hands soothe it away, trailing patterns of warmth down his spine, across his sides. One of his hands slides down the back of Lucas’ jeans and he swears, grinding forward into Eliott’s thigh, and that’s the moment Lucas realizes that he’s half-naked in his own entryway, that Eliott is standing in said entryway with his dick out, and that, if they keep going, Lucas is probably going to come in that entryway.

He isn’t always a great roommate, but he’s not about to do that to Yann. Plus, Lucas has priorities, such as getting Eliott naked and spreading him across his bedsheets.

“Okay, okay.” Lucas tears himself away from Eliott’s grasp. “Bedroom, come on.”

Eliott laughs and hitches his briefs and jeans back up around his hips, bending down to gather their discarded clothes into his arms.

“Oh,” Eliott says abruptly, shifting the clothes to one arm and reaching for his backpack. “Not to kill the mood, but, before I forget, I want to put these in the fridge. I snagged us some pastries from work today.”

Lucas blinks. “Did you?”

“Yeah. I even got you one of those apricot danishes you like so much. We can have them for breakfast tomorrow, if you want.” Eliott shrugs, an endearingly shy gesture, and even though Lucas just had Eliott’s dick in his mouth, even though Lucas has been so thoroughly kissed tonight that his lips already feel swollen, this might be the thing that ruins him.

It’s just. Ever since Lucas became aware that he liked boys, he started building a dream boyfriend in his head. Someone who was cute, smart and kind. Someone who listened to everything Lucas had to say. Someone who kissed Lucas like he was the only person who mattered. Someone who would take care of him, doing small, kind gestures for him for no reason at all.

But when Lucas started dating, he realized how naive that was, to think he could find someone like that. In reality, dating was about compromising. It was about losing his virginity in order to keep an older boy around, then having the boy leave anyway. It was about getting his heart broken, time and time again. It was about the look on Ben’s face when he said, _It’s not worth it for how fucked up in the head he is._

“That sounds nice.” Lucas says now, voice thick. He coughs to mask it. “Thank you.”

Eliott steps closer to him, tilting his head to meet Lucas’ eyes. “Are you okay?”

Lucas shakes his head, biting down on his lip. “It’s nothing.” He hesitates for a moment, but Eliott’s forehead is creased with concern, so he says, “I’m really happy you’re my boyfriend.”

And Eliott’s entire face changes. The creases in his forehead smooth out, his eyes soften and he smiles, wide and lopsided and beautiful.

“I’m happy I’m yours.” He says, and Lucas thinks that he was wrong about earlier, on the bike—this is the happiest moment he’s ever had in his entire life.

He keeps thinking it, as the night goes on.

They fall into Lucas’ bed, naked, laughing, thrown into soft shades of orange by the lamp on his desk. Lucas rides Eliott until his thighs are sore, muscles aching, until Eliott flips them over and fucks him into oblivion, and as Lucas coasts through the blissful waves of his orgasm, he thinks that this must be the happiest moment he’s ever had in his life, gasping into Eliott’s neck, stars dancing behind his eyelids, as close as they can possibly be, both of them collapsing onto their sides to catch their breath but still touching, Lucas’ fingers fluttering along the divots of Eliott’s ribs.

They make use of the empty flat and take a shower, washing each other’s hair and soaping up each other’s backs, breaking out into a small foam fight. Eliott brushes Lucas’ wet hair back from his face, smiling at him, unbearably fond, and this has to be the happiest Lucas moment has ever had in his entire life.

After one a.m. they sneak into the kitchen, whispering even though no one else is home, raiding the freezer for ice cream and eating it straight from the carton with two spoons. Lucas sits up on the counter and Eliott stands between his spread legs, stroking his hands down Lucas’ bare thighs, thumbs curling behind his knees. Their kisses are sticky and sugary sweet, and Eliott licks a stripe of ice cream off of Lucas’ cheek, and this, this is the happiest moment Lucas has ever had in his entire life.

They go to sleep, finally, around two, and Lucas spoons up behind Eliott, wrapping an arm around his waist and burying his face in Eliott’s hair. He whispers sweet, strange things to him, nonsensical things that make Eliott laugh and make him sigh into his pillow and eventually make him drift off, chest rising and falling evenly under Lucas’ palm, and _this_, Lucas thinks, _this is the happiest moment of my entire life._

But that’s what it’s like with Eliott. Lucas doesn’t think he can become any happier, and then he does. Just like that.

It’s his final thought before he drifts off, how he never thought it could be like this, so good that it aches.

He never wants to lose it.

The semester starts slowly, romantically, like it always does.

Cheery greetings called across walkways, reunions in the library café, endless queues at the campus bookstore, dramatic reenactments of summer travel stories, printers whirring away and staplers clicking and stacks of sheets being passed around with a professor talking about _where we’re headed this semester._ There’s a changing wind that brings with it the promise of frosted autumn mornings, of long nights and wool coats and warm coffees clutched in freezing hands.

Despite knowing better, Lucas lets himself be lulled into the first week back. He gives cursory glances to the syllabi he’s handed in his labs and meets the boys for beers right after his classes finish. His cuts his hours at Three Fates from twenty a week to ten, sleeps late on days when his mornings are free, and talks to his mom on the phone every other day, making plans to have lunch with her and his father in early October. His father is difficult about it, of course, telling Lucas that he’ll have to cut a business trip to America short in order to make it, and after Lucas hangs up with him he drops his head into his hands and swears loudly.

When Eliott comes running into his bedroom to ask what’s wrong, Lucas lies, tells him he got an annoying email from a professor.

He’ll tell Eliott about his parents when he’s ready. Just, not yet. Not when everything is going so perfectly between them, not when the semester has just begun, and Lucas is determined to make the most of what’s left of his time at university.

And anyway, Eliott is busy. He throws himself into his work from the very start of term, already talking about about his senior thesis and spending long days in the studio, staying up late into the night sketching at his desk, until Lucas slips out of bed and comes up behind him, folding Eliott into a hug and pressing his lips to the back of his shoulder.

_Come cuddle me_, Lucas always says.

_I just need five more minutes_, Eliott always says in return, and sometimes he means it, and sometimes five minutes turn into another hour.

Lucas will sigh, pout, complain about being cold, but he’ll leave him, because Eliott and his art is something Lucas doesn’t even properly understand yet. He’s sure he has the same expression on his face when Eliott talks about composition and expressionism as Eliott does when Lucas talks about polymers and biomechanics.

Not that Lucas has been talking about these things a lot. Or at all.

“You do this every single year, Lucas.” Imane gripes at him one sunny afternoon outside of the library café, sipping daintily at her tea. “You don’t do shit for the first few weeks and then you act like all the assignments come out of nowhere.”

“They do come out of nowhere,” Lucas complains, adjusting his position on Eliott’s lap, tugging Eliott’s arms tighter around himself when a cold breeze cuts across the patio.

Imane stares at him. “It’s a wonder you haven’t failed yet.”

“It’s because I’m a genius,” Lucas says primly, then amends, “and because you and Celine kick my ass all the time.”

“You are a genius,” Eliott says softly into Lucas’ ear, and he brightens.

“Did you hear that, Imane? Eliott says I’m a genius.”

“He’s your boyfriend, Lucas.” Alexia interjects from her spot between Emma and Yann, folding a paper napkin into an origami swan. “He’s like, legally obligated to tell you stuff like that.”

Emma snorts and Lucas makes an offended sound.

“Eliott wouldn’t lie.” He swivels on Eliott’s lap to glance at him. “Would you?”

“I wouldn’t.” Eliott says, and he smiles, but his hands fall away from Lucas’ waist. He stands awkwardly, jostling Lucas from his lap.

“Where are you going?” Lucas asks, eyebrows furrowing. “I thought you were done class for the day.”

“I have a meeting with my supervisor.”

Lucas wrinkles his nose. “Already?”

“Yes, already.” Eliott laughs, cupping Lucas’ cheeks in his hand to kiss him. “Some of us actually have work to do.”

“_Rude_,” Lucas grumbles, but he returns the kiss, gripping the front of Eliott’s jacket to hold him close. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Sure,” Eliott agrees. He kisses Lucas again, brief and chaste, and then he’s gone, calling goodbyes over his shoulder, and grinning when Alexia and Arthur respond with enthusiastic _We’ll miss you’s!_ Lucas watches him stride towards the path that connects to the art building, watches him until he turns the corner and disappears from view.

Eliott never looks back over this shoulder, but Lucas blows him a kiss all the same.

He’s stuck on a memory from a few nights ago, another night where Eliott was sketching at his desk late into the night and Lucas had cracked a joke that he’s supposed to be the insomniac in the relationship. He saw it from where he was leaning over Eliott’s shoulder, how his face shuttered closed, only for a moment, a flicker of expression, but it was enough for Lucas to drop the subject altogether. Instead, he’d left a cup of tea on Eliott’s desk and pressed sweet kisses behind his ear and told him that he’s proud of him, that he’s already working so hard.

He doesn’t admit to anyone that since then, on the nights where Lucas doesn’t stay over at Eliott’s, he worries whether Eliott gets any sleep at all. Whether Eliott is taking care of himself.

So, for good measure, he sends a text: _Let me know if you want me to bring you dinner later._

He doesn’t really expect a response, but he gets one, after he goes home with Yann, after he cooks some pasta with red sauce and eats it in front of his laptop, half-heartedly watching an episode of The Office with subtitles on.

His phone buzzes, and he ignores it at first, thinking it must be a meme from Basile or a message from his father, probably cancelling on their lunch plans like he always does. When the phone buzzes a second time, then a third, he glances over at it, and nearly spills his glass of water over when he realizes it’s Eliott.

** _can i come over?_ **

** _if you’re free, i mean_ **

** _if you don’t want me to, it’s okay_ **

Lucas types out a quick, _yes omg please come overrr_ with a dozen pink heart emojis tacked on the end, then leaps up from his seat, clearing his dishes away from the table and stacking them in the sink. He closes his laptop and carries it into his room, passing Yann on the way.

“What’s up?” Yann asks, craning his head over the back of the sofa, headphones pushed down to his neck, an open word doc blinking up from his laptop.

“Eliott’s coming over,” Lucas says distractedly from inside his room, setting his laptop down on his desk and hastily making his bed.

“Right.” Yann drawls the word out. Lucas hears him getting up from the sofa, gathering his computer and charger together. “So should I vacate the premises, or…?”

“Shut up,” Lucas huffs, wheeling back out of his bedroom with a nicer, cleaner pair of sweatpants on, pulling one of Eliott’s sweaters over his head. “Nobody has to _vacate the premises_. He’s coming over just to, you know, hang out. Probably to eat something.”

“Right.” Yann repeats, eyebrows raised. He sails past Lucas into his bedroom. “Still going to keep my headphones handy, thanks.”

“For fuck’s sake, we don’t have sex every time we’re together!” Lucas shouts after him. Yann doesn’t say anything, but the closing of his bedroom door speaks volumes. “We don’t,” Lucas mutters to himself, pulling his phone out of his pocket when it buzzes.

** _i’m downstairs_ **

Lucas buzzes him in, opening the front door and waiting in the hall, chewing on his bottom lip as he listens to Eliott’s heavy footsteps growing louder with every floor he clears. He’s nervous, and he doesn’t know why, bouncing on the spot and tugging on the bottom of Eliott’s sweater, eyes trained on where the staircase curves around to come up to his floor. It’s like Lucas is waiting on a first date rather than waiting for his boyfriend.

It could be exciting, that feeling, but more than anything it’s strange to Lucas, compared to the warm comfort seeing Eliott always gives him. He feels…unsettled. Uncertain.

When Eliott rounds the corner Lucas sees his hair first, then his shoulders, his black denim jacket and grey sweatpants, bright orange socks sticking out from the tops of his converse. His eyes crinkle at the corners when they land on Lucas, his legs propelling him up the final steps two at a time.

“Hi,” Lucas says, waving a hand stupidly.

“Hi.” Eliott says when he reaches the top stair, soft and fond. He steps right up to Lucas, arms out, and wraps Lucas into a tight hug, pressing their cheeks together.

Lucas lets out a long, deep sigh, his own arms going around Eliott’s shoulders, hands burying in his hair. Lucas loses track of how long they stay pressed together like that, his door propped open against his back heel, the sound of a movie drifting into the hallway from Yann’s bedroom.

“Do you want to come in?” Lucas asks eventually, a tiny grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve got pasta if you’re hungry.”

Eliott nods. “Yeah, that would be good.” He presses a soft kiss to Lucas’ cheek, right where the skin curves in on a dimple. “Thank you.”

“Come on, it’s nothing,” Lucas breezes, leading Eliott into the apartment and letting the door slam shut behind them. “I mean, the sauce I bought is actually not the cheapest brand for once, which is shocking, I know, but I had just gotten paid and I felt like treating myself to the good shit.” He pivots on his heels to face Eliott, searching for a smile, for a laugh, maybe, but what he finds is Eliott hanging his jacket up and carefully placing his shoes next to Lucas’ on the mat at the far end of the hall.

He stands from his crouch, but he’s still hunched over, his body folding in on itself like one of Alexia’s origami napkins, shoulders tight around his ears.

At once, all of the nerves Lucas had felt earlier, the ones that were dissipated the second he felt Eliott’s arms around him, come back in full force. “Hey. Eliott,” he says gently, “is everything okay?”

Eliott blinks up at him, and it’s like watching windshield wipers clear away a misting rain. “Yeah, yeah, it’s okay.” He follows Lucas into the kitchen. “Or, well, not completely. That’s why I wanted to come over. Um, I know I left in a rush earlier and was kind of dismissive when you asked me about it. That’s wasn’t okay for me to do, and you don’t deserve to be treated like…” He sighs. “I’ve been stressing out about some things, and I…I felt like I was starting to distance myself from you, and I’m sorry.”

Lucas freezes beside the kitchen table, hands at his sides, mouth dropped open into a surprised _o_. He’d seen how hard Eliott was working, and he was worried about him, worried that he might be having some wild artistic-euphoria nights where he didn’t sleep or eat or anything, but he didn’t think it was this bad. He didn’t think Eliott was purposely giving himself space from Lucas. From them.

He had no idea.

“Oh.” Lucas murmurs. He feels awkward standing there, so he goes to the fridge for his leftovers, pulling two containers out and setting them on the counter. “Is this about your thesis?”

“In part,” Eliott says. He doesn’t elaborate on it, and Lucas gets the feeling he shouldn’t ask. Like this is something private Eliott had to deal with, and he’s only telling Lucas what he has to know.

“Okay.” Lucas opens up the cupboard and takes out a bowl. He means it. If there are things Eliott doesn’t feel comfortable telling him, that’s okay. Lucas certainly hasn’t told Eliott everything about himself and his past yet. He understands not wanting to complicate things. “Well you started working on it really early.” He turns to Eliott, holding the bowl to his chest, searching for something to say. “Do you want to talk about it? I mean,” he shrugs, shifts on his feet, “I don’t know that much about art but I can definitely listen. I’m here for you, if you need me.”

Eliott is leaning back against the kitchen table, hands braced against the edge of it. “I always need you. That’s kind of the problem.” He’s smiling but it’s sad, a rueful curve painted in dark blue.

Lucas sets the bowl aside. “What? Eliott, what does that mean?”

Eliott shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that.” He straightens from the table and walks over to the counter, stealing a fork from the dish rack and taking over for Lucas, pouring cold pasta into the bowl and setting it down in the microwave. “I just never want to burden you with my shit,” Eliott says, and he sounds frustrated, his fingers jamming against the microwave buttons. “I don’t want to ruin anything between us.”

_There it is._ Lucas touches him on the elbow. “Eliott,” he murmurs, “you don’t have to worry about that with me. You’re not going to ruin anything. Remember what we promised? We’ll take everything minute by minute, and we’ll try to be honest with each other.” When Eliott doesn’t say anything, just blinks down at the counter, Lucas takes a step closer to him and hugs him around his waist. “This has really been stressing you out, hasn’t it?” He rests his forehead against Eliott’s bicep. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry I didn’t notice.”

Eliott shakes his head. “I didn’t want you to notice.”

Lucas noses aside the sleeve of Eliott’s t-shirt and kisses the bare skin there. “What made you want to tell me today?”

“I’m trying to take my own advice, I think.”

“What advice?”

“Well, not advice, but when I said to you that we need to trust us, together. I’m trying to do that.”

Lucas props his chin up on Eliott’s bicep. “So, we’re both trying to do that. Isn’t that what every relationship is about, in a way?”

“Maybe.” Eliott says, and this time when he smiles, it reaches his eyes. “Or maybe it’s about stealing your boyfriend’s leftover food because he’s a way better cook thank you are.”

Lucas laughs, and just like that, they’re back, trading soft kisses and mooning at each other over cold pasta and the second-cheapest sauce from the grocery store. Just like that, the cloud passes, and they’re there. They’re okay. They’ll be okay.

As if in agreement, the microwave beeps at them.

Eliott eats his re-heated dinner, and then Lucas is marching him into his bedroom, ordering him to strip to his boxers and lie down on the bed.

“Are you going to tie me up?” Eliott asks seriously, pulling his shirt off. “My safeword is raccoon.”

Lucas stares at him. “No it’s not,” he says, but he sounds dubious even to his own ears.

There’s a beat of silence, then Eliott bursts into laughter.

“You’re so _annoying_.” Lucas complains, throwing a pillow at his face. “Just lie down. Put that under your head.”

Eliott does, and Lucas retrieves a bottle of scent-free lotion from the bathroom, smacking Eliott on the ass when he asks if that’s what Lucas uses to jerk off.

He climbs onto the bed and straddles Eliott’s back, pouring a generous amount of lotion into his hands, and then gets to work, slowly and methodically unravelling all of the knots in Eliott’s back, kneading at the muscles until Eliott is sinking into the mattress, practically drooling onto the pillow.

“That was fucking…amazing,” Eliott sighs when Lucas is finished, turning his head on the pillow to look at him, eyes hooded and hazy. “You’re amazing.”

Lucas grins, rubbing the excess lotion into his hands. “I know.”

It’s getting late, passing midnight, and when Lucas asks Eliott if he wants to stay over, Eliott sighs happily in response. So, Lucas strips down to his briefs, turns off his bedside lamp and collapses onto the mattress next to Eliott, rolling onto his stomach and draping himself over his back, smushing his face between his shoulder blades.

“Thank you.” Eliott murmurs, and Lucas shushes him.

“It’s late,” he says, thinking of Eliott’s long nights at his desk, of the bags under his eyes. “Let’s sleep.”

They both go quiet at that, drifting into the space between awake and asleep, a floating, gossamer-thin place of muted sounds and colours.

“Lucas?” Eliott asks, voice soft, and it takes Lucas a moment to respond.

“Yeah?”

“Do you…” He hesitates. “There’s something else I want to tell you. But I’m not ready yet.”

Lucas tilts his head, resting his chin on Eliott’s shoulder. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready, honey.”

“But do you think—do you think you’d still like me, if you knew every thing about me? Every part of me? Would you still want to be with me?”

Eliott has gone still underneath him, tense and nervous again, and it could break Lucas’ heart how Eliott thinks that there’s a part of himself that’s unloveable. He wants to tell Eliott that there’s no way that could ever be true, because he already knows that every part of him longs for every part of Eliott.

_Every star in your galaxy._

He strokes a gentle hand down Eliott’s side, lowering his cheek to Eliott’s skin again, a gentle beat thudding away under this ear. He closes his eyes. “Of course,” he says. “Of course I’ll still want to be with you. I’ll always want to be with you.”

“Oh.” Eliott murmurs. The beat under Lucas’ cheek stutters. “That. That’s good to know.”

“Good.” Lucas says on a smile. He trails his fingers up Eliott’s spine, dancing across the ridges. “Now, go to sleep.”

One of Lucas’ least favourite versions of himself is the one that hates to think ahead.

Because Imane is right. One morning Lucas wakes up, checks his email, and he realizes he has a lab report, a stack of readings and an annotated bibliography he has to finish by Friday.

“What the fuck,” he groans in his seminar for Molecular Biotechnology that day, face-down on the grainy wood of his desk. “I thought that bibliography wasn’t due until October.”

Celine raises an eyebrow at him over her Starbucks. “It is October, Lulubear.”

“_Fuck_.”

Imane doesn’t give him an _I told you so_, but she does look at him with pity when she sees him in the library on Tuesday night, and that’s almost worse.

Between his flood of deadlines and Eliott’s studio time, they barely see each other for the rest of the week unless it’s during study breaks. Lucas manages to drop by Eliott’s apartment one morning, and they walk to campus together, holding hands and sharing a croissant, Eliott kissing Lucas goodbye at the sciences building.

Then there’s the evening Eliott comes by the library, bringing Lucas a coffee and a sandwich and asking if he’ll come over later. It’s killing him, how Eliott is so stressed and anxious about his thesis but there he is, still looking after Lucas, and Lucas wants nothing more than to go home with him and fall asleep, warm and comfy and making sure Eliott is being looked after too.

“I can’t,” Lucas whines, rolling his head back on his neck. “I need to get everything finished for Friday, and I still have half the readings to go through.”

“You know,” Eliott says lightly, stepping behind Lucas’ chair, “Imane says you brought it upon yourself.”

“Maybe so,” Lucas gripes, his mouth dropping open into a quiet gasp when Eliott’s hands move to Lucas’ shoulders, digging into the tight muscle there. “Oh my god,” Lucas whispers, leaning his head forward. “Eliott, oh my _god_.”

“Take a deep breath,” Eliott orders, pressing his thumbs down on either side of Lucas’ spine. When Lucas exhales, his thumbs slide out, under the wings of his scapulae.

Lucas bites back a moan that rises deep from his throat, slamming a hand down on the desk.

“Feel good, baby?” Eliott asks, and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that makes Lucas’ cheeks flush.

“Yeah,” he says weakly, closing his eyes as Eliott’s thumbs make a pass down his spine.

“I was hoping,” Eliott continues, his thumbs smoothing back up, hands returning to Lucas’ shoulders, “that I would be able to return the favour for you.”

Lucas shakes his head. “I didn’t do that so you would have to return the favour. I did it because I wanted to.”

“I know.” Eliott bends down so his mouth is level with Lucas’ ear. “But you made me feel so good, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about since then, making you feel like that.”

“Please.” Lucas groans when Eliott presses down on an especially tight spot. “You make me feel good just by existing.”

There’s a pause, then Eliott kisses the back to Lucas’ neck, his hands falling away and the heat of his body disappearing as he steps back, and _no_, Lucas thinks, _that’s not what I want at all_.

So maybe Lucas takes Eliott by the hand and pulls him away from the study carousels lining the windows, to a dark, empty corner of the floor that smells like old paper and dust. Maybe he and Eliott make out pressed between the stacks, Eliott’s hands under Lucas’ thighs and Lucas’ arms around Eliott’s shoulders. Maybe it’s another half hour before Eliott leaves the library. Maybe it’s another hour before Lucas can concentrate enough to work again.

When Friday afternoon rolls around, Lucas is exhausted, burnt out, and so relieved he could cry, so when he gets a text from Arthur informing him of an impromptu party at his place that night, Lucas responds with dozens of confetti emojis and a tiny bottle of popping champagne.

It’s a grey October day, with clouds hanging low in the sky and gusts of wind sending pale brown leaves into swirling tornados, dancing across the grass, the pavement, getting caught in doorways and following students into their classrooms. Lucas spots Eliott when he’s crossing the quad, head low, dressed entirely in black, and Lucas takes off after him at a sprint. When he gets close enough, he launches himself at Eliott’s back, cackling when Eliott startles, stumbling forward, swearing loudly.

“Happy Friday, Eliott!” Lucas crows into his ear, gripping onto Eliott’s shoulders for support. He strains his head up and lands a smacking kiss on his neck.

“Lucas.” Eliott says, who sounds like he’s both happy to see him and is regretting every life choice that’s brought him up to this point. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Yep.” Lucas giggles, sliding down Eliott’s back until his feet return to the pavement. “How could I not be?” He takes hold of both Eliott’s hands in his own. “It’s Friday, I’ve finished all of my assignments, and…” He pauses dramatically, swinging their locked hands between them. “Arthur’s having a party tonight.”

Eliott blinks. “Oh.”

The pace of their swinging hands falters. “Kind of was expecting more enthusiasm than that, I have to admit.” Lucas jokes, but he squeezes Eliott’s hands gently. “Do you not want to go?”

“No.” Eliott says quickly, squeezing Lucas’ hands in return. “It’s not that. I was…kind of hoping for a quiet night. With just us.”

Lucas feels himself melting. It’s so sweet, the way Eliott is staring at their linked hands, spots of pink high on his cheeks. He’s so sweet. Lucas wants to wrap him into a blanket and pet his hair.

Except…he's really excited by the idea of going out. And he’s in the mood now, veins racing with the frenetic energy that only comes from the anticipation of a night where you can shake off the responsibilities of the week and lose yourself at the bottom of a bottle of vodka.

“Normally I would be so down for that,” Lucas says at length, eyes pleading on Eliott’s, “but I’m really in the mood to go out now, you know? I need to de-stress from this week.”

“I can help you de-stress.” Eliott argues gently, eyes warm. “I can give you a massage. A proper one.”

Lucas brain is immediately flooded with images of what _that_ might look like, but he still has that restless thrumming beneath his skin. He has a feeling if he stays in tonight, he’ll wind up bouncing off the walls.

“I swear, I’m not trying to be a dick,” he says, “but I really want to go to Arthur’s. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the gang, and I could really go for a drink. Or two. Or five.” He grins at Eliott, and gets a half-smile in return. A cold wind blows through the quad, leaves whirling around their ankles. They both shiver against it. “But listen, if you’re feeling really tired, you don’t have to come.” Lucas tugs Eliott closer by his hands. “I mean it. Stay home and get some rest. Then in the morning, I’ll come over and we’ll spend the whole day napping and watching horror movies.”

That gets a wide smile. “You know I hate horror movies.”

“Then we’ll watch some of those black and white movies you like.” Lucas brings one of Eliott’s hands up, turns it over to kiss his wrist.

He hears Eliott inhale sharply. “I’ll come.”

Lucas blinks, mouth still pressed to his skin. “No, seriously, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Lucas frowns at him and Eliott laughs. “Really, it’s okay, Lucas. I can…” He sighs, tugging Lucas’ hands to spread their arms out. “I can see if Idriss and Sofi want to come.”

“Okay,” Lucas releases their hands to wrap his arms around Eliott’s waist, pulling him into a hug. “But if you decide you’re too tired, or you’re not having fun, then you can leave whenever you want.”

“I know that, Lucas.” Eliott says, and the words come out with sharp corners. “I’m not a child.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.” Lucas mumbles into Eliott’s chest, curling himself closer when another gust of wind passes through, the cold fingers of autumn dipping under the hem of Lucas’ sweater, trailing along the back of his neck. “We’ll have fun, I promise.” He says emphatically, pulling his head back to look up at Eliott.

Eliott smiles, and kisses him.

They show up at Arthur’s together, with Idriss and Sofiane in tow, presenting their offerings at the door when Basile answers it: a bottle of whiskey from Idriss, a case of beer from Lucas.

“Excellent,” Basile says, rubbing his hands together. “Come inside, you beautiful bastards.”

Arthur’s apartment is a two-bedroom he shares with his cousin, on the top floor of a brick building. It’s surprisingly large inside, with wide windows and a balcony that leads off from the living room, which people are already escaping to, the glowing ends of their cigarettes flickering like fireflies.

It looks like Arthur decorated, a little bit, or maybe it’s Alexia’s handiwork. There are pink and purple streamers draped over all the lamps and chairs, silver balloons littered along the floor and, most impressively, a ghost hanging from the ceiling.

“Still early for Halloween, isn’t it?” Sofiane murmurs, staring up at it.

“Oh no,” Lucas laughs. “He keeps that up all year.”

“Her name is Eloise,” Arthur informs them, appearing at Sofiane’s elbow with a tray of shots in hand. His eyes roam over them. “You guys look nice.”

Idriss beams at him, taking two shots from the tray and passing one to Lucas. “Why, thanks.”

“There’s soda in the kitchen,” Arthur tells Sofiane and Eliott, gesturing with his free hand. “I can always make coffee too, if you want.”

“Oh yeah, actually, that would be great.” Eliott says, and Lucas turns to him, face creasing in worry.

“Are you that tired?” He asks Eliott quietly, laying a hand on his arm. “Eliott, you can—”

“I’m fine, Lucas.” Eliott presses a kiss to the side of his head. “Really. Go get drunk with Idriss.”

Idriss laughs, throwing an arm over Lucas’ shoulders. “Come on, cutie. You heard the man.”

Lucas lets himself be lead further into the living room, into the drunken cheers welcoming them to the throng of people, but can’t help glancing behind Idriss, watching Eliott retreat into the kitchen, chewing down on his bottom lip in thought.

He knows Eliott doesn’t really like parties that much, that he can find them draining, and he trusts Eliott to leave if he really is too tired, but Lucas can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else. There’s a weariness in him that speaks of more than long, yawning nights with charcoal-stained fingers.

As if he can hear his thoughts, Idriss lowers his mouth close to Lucas’ ear. “Don’t worry about Eliott, Lucas. He wouldn’t come if he didn’t want to.”

“Yeah.” Lucas sighs, dragging his gaze away from the kitchen and focusing on the mass of people sprawled across Arthur’s couch, spilling onto his floor. He can see Daphné sitting on Manon’s lap, both of them laughing at a story Alexia is telling, eyes wide and hands gesticulating wildly. He can see Sofiane has found Imane and they’re talking in a corner, sharing a can of soda and smiling at each other over the rim of it. He can see Yann and Basile, setting up for a game of beer pong. All around Lucas there’s laughter, carefree and loud and unapologetically happy. It’s more intoxicating than any alcohol he can’t think of, and he reminds himself that this is a reward for his week from hell. He deserves a night of cutting loose, of letting himself be young and stupid. “Yeah.” He says again, wrapping his own arm around Idriss’s back. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get a drink.”

Idriss cheers like Lucas is about to lead them into battle.

And so, Lucas gets drunk.

He takes more shots from Arthur’s roaming tray, has some of whatever Daphné’s questionable mix is, then plays a round of beer pong with Idriss, only to discover that they’re both terrible at it, and have to polish off six beers between the two of them.

Yeah, it’s safe to say that he’s drunk by that point, laughing a little too long and too hard at everything, singing purposefully off-key when someone puts on a Britney song and getting even worse at beer pong.

When they lose another match, this time against Emma and Alexia, Idriss plants his face in his hands.

“We suck,” Idriss moans, and behind them, someone laughs.

“You really do. That might be the saddest game of beer pong I’ve ever seen.”

Lucas turns on the spot and lets out an excited squeal. “Celine!” He pulls her into a hug, smacking an obnoxious kiss to her cheek.

“Hello, Lulubear.” She giggles, straightening the collar of Lucas’ shirt with one hand. She looks like a fairy, Lucas thinks, with glittering eyeshadow on her lids, dark hair falling around her shoulders in soft curls. “You’re in fine form tonight.”

“You smell nice,” Lucas tells her, entirely sincerely, “like a rose bush. And your eyeshadow is pretty.”

“Aw, you’re sweet.”

Lucas turns to Idriss. “You know Celine, right? She’s in my program.”

Idriss nods, but his eyes are wide, hands frozen at his sides. “Yeah, I—I went to your house party.”

Celine cracks open a beer with a bottle opener that’s shaped like a human skull, frowning pensively. “The one in the spring? End of last term?”

Idriss nods again. Lucas squints at him.

“Huh, weird.” Celine takes a long pull on the beer. “I don’t think I saw you. Although there were way too many people there. The clean-up the next day was a fucking nightmare.”

“I saw you,” Idriss blurts out, then immediately looks horrified, like the words escaped entirely on their own. “I mean, you were hosting, so I saw you, like, doing stuff.”

Celine smiles at him, raising her eyebrows. “Doing stuff?”

Idriss looks like he wants to sink into the floor. Lucas smothers a giggle into his hands. Watching the way Idriss is tripping over his words, hands still flat at his sides like he has no idea what to do with them, is endlessly entertaining. Lucas should have made a point of introducing them months ago.

He squints at Celine now, taking in her shiny hair, her long legs, her dark eyes and teasing smile, the silver rings stacked on her fingers, drumming against the glass of her beer bottle.

Lucas may not like girls, but he gets it.

“This is _great_,” Lucas sighs aloud. Then he pouts. “I wish Eliott was here.”

Celine breaks her staring contest with Idriss to make a face at him. “He’s in the kitchen.”

_Oh, yeah_. “Oh yeah!” Lucas says happily. He got so caught up in the party, in the thudding base of Arthur’s speakers and the burn of shots down his throat that it slipped through his mind like smoke. Eliott is here. Lucas can literally go find him right now. He pats Celine clumsily on the shoulder. “You’re so smart. So, so smart. Don’t be too mean to Idriss. He’s very nice, I promise.” He smiles dreamily. “I’m going to go see my boyfriend.”

Celine winks at him. “Bye, Lulubear.”

Lucas saunters out of the living room, bumping into a table on the way and then a wall, a bit of his beer spilling out onto Arthur’s hardwood floors.

“Oh _no_,” Lucas gasps, staring down at the puddle of beer. He wheels into the kitchen, giving an excited wave when he sees Eliott, Yann, Basile and Arthur standing together at the counter.

“My boys!” He cries in delight, flinging himself forwards, all of them letting out a series of laughs and groans when he slams into them.

“Hi baby,” Eliott says, grinning widely at him, eyes crinkling. He’s so cute. He’s the cutest person Lucas has ever seen in his entire life. And the nicest. He’s so _nice_ and so _cute_. Lucas thinks he might cry.

“Eli!” He burrows himself into Eliott’s side, hugging him tightly around his middle. “My boyfriend,” he says, partially to make Eliott laugh and partially to remind himself that Eliott is, in fact, his boyfriend. That this is his life.

Yann and Arthur make elaborately disgusted faces. Basile swoons.

“Oh, wait. Arthur!” Lucas pops his head up so he can look at him. “Do you have any paper towel? I spilled some beer on your floor but please don’t be mad at me.” He tries to make his eyes pleading, going for that look Eliott is always talking about, the one that makes it impossible to say no to him.

Arthur laughs. “Yeah, I have paper towel, Lucas. I can clean it, it’s fine.”

“No!” Lucas protests, yanking himself away from Eliott’s warmth. “It has to be me. I’m the one who spilled.”

“Oh my god.” Yann snorts into his beer.

“You’re a hero, Lucas.” Basile says proudly, clapping him on the back.

Arthur is shaking his head, but he hands Lucas a roll of paper towel.

“Thank you,” Lucas says solemnly, then flees from the kitchen to clean up the puddle of beer that’s still on the floor. He probably uses way too much paper towel on it, but when he’s finished, the patch of wood is dry again, only slightly sticky to the touch. He’s congratulating himself on a job well done when his phone starts buzzing in his back pocket.

He digs it out.

** _Incoming Call: Eric (do not answer!)_ **

Lucas frowns. It’s late, nearly one in the morning, far too late for his father to be calling. Lucas lets it ring, staring down at the screen. It lights up again with a voicemail notification, and Lucas sighs. This isn’t what tonight is supposed to be about. Lucas is supposed to be having fun, not getting insidious late-night voicemails.

He debates leaving the message, but he knows it will keep bothering him, a weight in his pocket that will distract him all night. So he weaves through the crowd out to the balcony, smiling at Idriss when he passes him. Imane and Sofiane have joined him, and it sounds like Celine is teaching all of them Korean swear words. Lucas lets their chorus of laughter wash over him like a balm, soothing the frayed edges of nerves. He can do this. He can listen to a stupid voicemail. And then he can go back to this friends.

He steps onto the balcony and sucks in a breath at the cold, crossing his arms across his chest. He shakes his head when someone offers him a hit off a joint, as appealing as the idea of getting stoned is in that moment, sequestering himself into a corner and unlocking his phone, slowly holding it up to his ear.

_You have one new message._

_Press one to listen to your unheard messages._

Lucas takes a breath and presses one.

_“Lucas, it’s your father. I know it must be late for you, but I’m still in Boston. Something’s come up with the merger, and I need to stay here a few more days, so I’ll have to cancel on lunch with you and your mother on Sunday. We can try to reschedule for next month.” There’s a commotion on the other side of the line, a woman’s laughter echoing in Lucas’ ears. “I have to go. Bye.”_

_Press three to repeat._

_Press five to delete._

Lucas jams his finger down on the number five on his screen, scowling.

Of course his dad cancelled at the last minute. Lucas was expecting this. It’s what he always does.

Still, Lucas feels like a hole has been shot into his heart. He knows his parents will never get back together, and that’s fine. He wouldn’t even want that to happen. All he wants is for his father to put in some effort, to show both him and his mom some respect. Some care. But it never happens.

Lucas shuts his eyes tightly, frustrated tears burning at the corners. He hates this. He _hates_ this.

He started when he feels a pair of arms circling his waist, warmth pressing against his side.

“Lucas? Are you okay?”

It’s Eliott. Of course it’s Eliott, voice soft with concern, bringing a hand up to Lucas’ face to stroke a stray tear away from his cheek. It’s a combination of the gesture, so achingly tender and caring, and the amount of alcohol in Lucas’ system that break the proverbial floodgates wide open.

“My fucking _father_,” Lucas groans, rubbing his hands across his eyes. “He’s such a piece of shit.”

Eliott folds Lucas tightly into his arms. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“He…” Lucas’ inhale is sharp, breath filling his lungs like knives. Suddenly, with complete clarity, he wishes he wasn’t drunk. “He always fucking does this. Every time I make plans with him, every time I try to get him in the same room as my mom he disappears. It’s like he hates us.”

Eliott strokes a soothing hand down Lucas’ spine.

The words keep pouring out.

“And I feel like such a bad person for saying this, but it’s too much sometimes, with my mom the way she is and staying in the clinic. I’m the one who has to take care of her. He doesn’t do a fucking thing except send money. He isn’t there for any of it, but I am, and I can do it, I can, because she’s my mom and I love her, but sometimes it’s so _much_—” Lucas’ voice cracks on a sob, and he plants his face into Eliott’s chest, years of silent hurt wracking through his body, seeping into Eliott’s t-shirt.

They stay like that for who knows how long—Lucas with his face hidden away, sobbing, and Eliott, holding him tightly, mouth pressed into a film line against the crown of Lucas’ head and his eyes fixed on the Paris skyline, silent tears rolling down his cheeks

Eliott walks him home from Arthur’s, holding Lucas’ hand and listening as Lucas drunkenly unloads the entire story of his parents, beginning from when his dad first left when he was sixteen.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Lucas says as they turn onto his street. “I never really talk about this, actually. Except to Yann.” He told Benoît when they were dating, baring his soul to him one night after they had sex, cuddling in Lucas’ bed, but that had been a mistake. Lucas hadn’t known that by telling Benoît his secrets, he was giving him an advantage—ammunition to break Lucas down piece by piece.

_It’s definitely not worth it for how fucked up in the head he is._

“There’s no need to be sorry.” Eliott tells him softly, pressing a kiss to the back of Lucas’ hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

Lucas stops their progress to pull Eliott close to him, to stand on his toes and throw him arms around Eliott’s neck. “Thank _you_,” he whispers into Eliott’s hair. “You always listen to me. You always find a way to make me feel better. You always care. You’re the best boyfriend in the entire universe.”

_I love you_, he thinks.

“Can you get upstairs okay?” Eliott asks, guiding Lucas to his front door with a hand on his lower back.

Lucas blinks at him. “You’re not coming?”

Eliott shakes his head. “I think you really to need rest, Lucas. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“But…” _But I love you. If I tell you that will you stay?_ “But you’re already here.”

“I don’t mind the walk.” Eliott drops a lingering kiss to Lucas’ forehead. “I’ll come over tomorrow, okay? Just text me when you’re up.”

“Okay.” Lucas grips onto Eliott’s coat, keeping him close and tilting his chin up to ask for another kiss. When Eliott gives him one, he falls into it like falling into a dream.

“Just know,” Lucas says as he unlocks his front door, Eliott standing on the street with his hands deep in his pockets. “That I do not approve of this decision. I’m going to be _cold_ without you.”

Eliott scuffs a toe into the pavement, giving Lucas that little half-smile that makes his heart stutter. “You’ll be fine without me.” He pulls one hand free to wave. “Goodnight, Lucas.”

“Goodnight, Eliott.” Lucas blows him a kiss. Eliott pretends to catch it in his open palm and Lucas laughs, tilting his head against the door as he watches Eliott walk away, his body hunching forward against the cold night.

The last thing Lucas wants is to spend the night alone, but he wasn’t about to push Eliott, especially when he’d already kind of pushed Eliott to come to the party tonight, then had cried in his arms and drunkenly confessed an entire chapter of his tragic backstory. His cheeks flush at the thought, at how vulnerable it was, how completely, utterly embarrassing it must have been.

But it’s Eliott. It’s Eliott who Lucas cried to, Eliott who he spilled his feelings to. Lucas forces himself to take a deep breath, tells himself that it’s fine because it’s Eliott, and Eliott is different than anyone else Lucas has known. Being with Eliott is unlike anything Lucas has ever known.

He makes the trip slowly, whacking his elbow off the railing and tripping on one of the stairs, and eventually making it to his apartment, collapsing face first onto his bed with his jacket still on.

His phone buzzes against his leg, and he groans, pulling it out and squinting against the bright screen. There’s a series of texts from Yann.

** _hey where did u go_ **

** _is everything okay_ **

** _lucas?_ **

** _lucas can u pls call me no one knows where u are_ **

** _okay wait eliott is gone toooo teLL ME YOU HAVENT DISAPPEARED TO HAVE SEC_ **

** _**SEX_ **

Lucas snorts a laugh into his pillow, shifting onto his back to type a response.

_nooooo no sex_

_my dad called me i got upset_

_i’m home now it’s okay eliott walked me_

_but thank youuuu for checking you’re the best friend ever xoxo i don’t deserve you_

It’s only a minute before Yann replies.

** _still drunk then ok_ **

** _and you’re damn right you don’t deserve me_ **

** _but i love you anyway see u when i get home_ **

“Love you too,” Lucas mumbles aloud as he types it, sending it off to Yann and dropping his phone onto his chest.

“I love you.” He says to the empty room, tasting the words in his mouth, trying them out, thinking about saying them to Eliott, thinking about Eliott saying them back.

“I love you, Eliott.” He tries again, and he likes that, that sounds right, and he laughs, rolling back over onto his stomach to smush his face into his pillow, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He mumbles into the pillow, squeezing it in his arms.

He reaches for his phone again, pulls up his conversation with Eliott.

_thank you for walking me home <33333 and thank you for listening_

Eliott doesn’t respond right away, so Lucas reluctantly stands from his bed, unzipping his jacket and throwing it over the back of his chair, dropping his shirt and his jeans into a pile on the floor. He finds one of Eliott’s t-shirts in his top drawer, soft and faded, like it’s been washed too many times. He’s pulling it on just as his phone buzzes form the bed.

Lucas flings himself back onto the mattress, snatching his phone up and opening it excitedly.

** _it’s nothing baby_ **

** _i’d do anything for you, you know_ **

** _anything to make you happy_ **

Lucas feels himself sinking down into the mattress, a giddy laugh bubbling in his throat. He’s definitely still drunk, and he’s going to have a hell of a headache and an emotional hangover tomorrow, but right now, he’s warm, he’s comfy, and he’s texting his boyfriend. And he’s in love.

_you make me happy_

_the happiest_

_i l_

<strike> _i love you_ </strike>

Lucas is so hungover the next day that he cries into the toilet.

“Yann,” he whimpers from the bathroom floor, “I think I’m dying.”

He can see Yann through the open door, where he’s lying face down on the sofa with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen next to him on the table.

“Lucas, I have to tell you I’m not much better right now.”

Lucas groans as another wave of nausea surges through him. “_God_. What was in those shots?”

“You know what? I don’t even want to know at this point.”

When the wave of nausea passes, Lucas spits into the toilet and flushes it, then lowers down to his knees and crawls into the living room, collapsing onto the floor when he gets there. He takes deep breaths through his nose, willing his stomach to settle, willing the hammers pounding against the sides of his skull to stop, even if just for a minute.

“Yann?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you please pet my hair?”

Yann groans, reaches a hand out half-heartedly from the sofa. “Can’t reach. Ask your boyfriend to do it.”

Lucas blinks his eyes open, guilt bringing on another wave of nausea. He was supposed to text Eliott when he woke up, but that was hours ago, and—“I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Lucas, come on. It’s Eliott. I’m sure he could see you with the black plague and he’d still want to cuddle you or whatever.”

Lucas shakes his head, and immediately regrets it, whimpering in pain. “I just can’t. I feel so _gross_.” He knows that Yann has a point. Eliott wouldn’t care, Lucas is sure he wouldn’t, but he feels raw and embarrassed from the night before, hesitant to see Eliott when he’s bared so much to him, when he almost drunkenly told Eliott over text that he loves him.

He just needs a day to recover. Then he’ll be fine.

Yann sighs. “Well, fine. But if you want me to do it you have to come here. I’m not moving.”

“No, thanks. I changed my mind, actually. I’m staying down here.” It’s nice on the floor, the hardwood cool against Lucas’ forehead, solid under his body. It feels good on the floor.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

“What did your dad call about?”

Oh god. Lucas groans into the floor. “Cancelled on lunch with my mom.”

“Asshole,” Yann bites out from where his face is smushed into one of the cushions.

Lucas cracks a smile for the first time all day. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Lu.”

“It’s fine. It’s what he does.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Lucas rolls onto his back on the floor, blinking into the afternoon light streaming in through the windows. He throws his arm over his eyes to block it out. “Thank you.”

“Does Eliott know?”

“Yeah.” Lucas sighs, thinking about how Eliott held him when he cried on Arthur’s balcony, how Eliott walked him all the way home just to make sure he was okay, and all of a sudden, he wants to cry. “Yeah, he knows.”

“That’s good.” Yann says, which Lucas wasn’t expecting. “I’m happy you trust him enough to tell him.”

And it might be due to the hangover, but Lucas really does start to feel tears itching behind his eyes. “I’m in love with him.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh, Lucas.” Yann sighs, and he stretches a hand out again, managing to reach Lucas’ elbow, gently patting it. “I know.”

An hour later Lucas goes back to bed, drawing his curtains shut against the stupidly beautiful October afternoon outside of his apartment. He sets a bottle of water on his side table, pops an ibuprofen, and sends a few texts to Eliott.

_hi sweetheart_

_i know we talked about you coming over today but i’m so miserably hungover i don’t think you’d want to be around me right now lol i’m going to go back to bed but i should be okay tomorrow_

_i have lunch with my mom but we could go to the park in the afternoon? i think the weather’s supposed to be nice_

_let me know <333333 i miss you_

He doesn’t get a response from Eliott until mid-morning, when he’s on his way to meet his mom.

** _sorry, can’t today plans with my parents_ **

** _hope you’re feeling better_ **

Lucas responds immediately, saying that his hangover is thankfully gone and he feels like a new man. He asks Eliott to say hi to his parents for him, and tells him that he’ll see him tomorrow, tacking on a dozen kissing emojis to the end of the text.

Over lunch he’s distracted, checking his phone more than he usually does, and his mom notices, smiling sweetly when she asks him who he’s waiting on. Lucas flushes, but he tells her that it’s nothing. It’s nothing.

Eliott doesn’t text him back.

He doesn’t sleep well that night, constantly turning over to check his phone, just in case Eliott sent him something and he didn’t notice. He tries to tell himself to relax, that Eliott is busy and he’ll see him tomorrow, but he can’t ignore the feeling he has deep in his gut, like there’s a black hole being born there.

The feeling deepens on Monday, when he doesn’t hear from Eliott at all, even after he sends him another text, asking if he wants to meet for lunch. Lucas hangs around campus late into the afternoon, despite only having a morning class that day. He loiters around the art building, checking his phone, feeling like an irrational, overreactive idiot for the better part of an hour, before he forces himself to leave, heading off campus to drown his anxiety into an extra large kebab.

He sends Eliott another text that night.

_hi, i don’t know if you’re angry with me, or if you’re just really busy, but can you please text me back? just so i know you’re alright? i’m worried about you. i'm sorry if i did something wrong._

He falls asleep waiting on a response, his phone falling out of his hand onto the mattress, slipping into restless dreams of starry skies and shadowed planets, of Lucas standing alone on the surface of the moon, watching meteors sail overhead and trying to grasp onto the burning tail of one, trying to go wherever they’re going, but never being able to reach.

His lack of sleep starts to show on his face, and the boys get worried.

“Is it Eliott?” Arthur asks Wednesday at lunch, touching a gentle hand to Lucas’ elbow. “I haven’t seen him since the party. Is something going on with him?”

“I don’t know.” Lucas admits quietly, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I haven’t heard from him in a few days.”

He doesn’t miss the worried glances the boys exchange over his head.

By Thursday, Lucas’ anxiety has soured into anger, and he’s on his way out of his afternoon lab, about to call Idriss and demand he put Eliott on the phone, or at least tell Lucas where he is, when he gets a text from an unknown number.

** _Hey, Lucas. It’s Émile from Fleurs Sauvages. I was wondering if you’re near campus at all._ **

Lucas stops mid-stride, frowning down at his phone.

_yeah, i am. why?_

** _Okay, well, I’m at a pub across the street from the south entrance called Le Voleur Honnête. I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but Eliott’s here and he’s kind of in rough shape, and I think you need to come take him home._ **

Lucas stares down at the message on his phone, rooted to the spot.

The black hole in his gut is growing, spreading up into his lungs, swallowing all of his air.

He’s running through a million scenarios in his head of what could be going on, of what _rough shape_ could mean. His first instinct is to take off in a sprint, to find this place and burst in through the doors and make sure Eliott is safe, but what’s keeping his feet planted in the ground, as heavy as tree roots, is the weight of unanswered texts in his phone and thought that, maybe, Lucas isn’t the person Eliott wants to see right now.

His phone buzzes again.

** _Please Lucas_ **

And there’s nothing else he can do, is there? If there’s a chance Eliott needs him, he has to go. He takes a deep breath, and sends a quick response.

_i’m on my way_

He finds the pub easily, a small place tucked between a bookstore and an art supplies shop, the front painted back, a wooden sign hanging over the entrance and candles flickering from behind thick glass windows. Lucas stops in his tracks when he reaches it, doubling over to catch his breath, raising his head when the door opens and a sea of voices pour out onto the street.

He startles when he recognizes Lucille from Eliott’s art show, arm-in-arm with a tall guy wearing a striped sweater and a leather jacket.

“Lucas.” Lucille says when her eyes land on him. She sounds surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Lucas straightens from his crouch, wiping a hand across his forehead. “Um, nothing, I just—”

“Are you here for Eliott?” Lucille glances back over her shoulder at the pub. “He’s inside.”

“Yeah, Émile texted me.” He takes a controlled breath, ignoring the curious glance of striped-sweater boy.

Lucille is frowning at him, a delicate crease in her face that’s coloured in a pale pink of pity, like she’s about to tell Lucas something she doesn’t want to say. The expression makes the black hole in Lucas’ gut spread down to his legs, numbing them.

“Lucas.” She extracts her arm from striped-sweater boy and steps closer to him, lowering her voice. “Eliott’s had a rough few days, and he’s not doing too well right now. But he’s inside, with his friends, and they’re keeping an eye on him. Do you think—” She bites down on her lip. “Do you think he’ll appreciate having you check on him like a babysitter?”

“I…I don’t…” Lucas feels like the ground has been yanked away from his feet. “I don’t know what you mean, I’m not—I mean, Émile texted me, so I—”

Lucille sighs. “I understand that, but how do you think you would feel, if Eliott came to check on you when you were out with friends?”

Lucas feels his face heat. He knows, or at least he’s pretty sure, Lucille is coming from a place that means well. But that look of pity on her face, the condescension in her voice. It makes the black hole inside of him roar.

“I don’t know what I would do.” He tells her. “But if Eliott ever came looking for me, because he was worried about me, because he cares about me, I wouldn’t be angry with him. Not for that.” He strides past her to the front door, pausing only when he gets a hand on it, turning to face her. “Lucille, I get what you’re saying, I think, and thank you, but you have no idea about what goes on between me and Eliott. You have no fucking clue.”

And he opens the door.

Inside, the pub is dark, faintly lit by low light and dripping candles and it’s busy, oddly packed for a Wednesday afternoon, with groups of students pulling chairs up to already-filled tables and milling around the bar, sloshing beer over the rims of their pints and sipping from thick-cut wine glasses.

Lucas’ eyes search the room, landing on a table in the corner with a group of loud, stylish students surrounding it, passing around bottles of wine and sharing a platter of bread and cheese. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realize he’d been holding when he sees Eliott sitting in the corner, knocking back a glass of red wine and talking to a boy next to him with dark hair. He looks more animated than Lucas thinks he’s seen him in weeks, waving his arms around excitedly, talking so loud he’s practically yelling. Lucas can see the boy with dark hair trying to keep him quiet, shooting worried glances at the bar staff.

He looks…drunk. And that worries Lucas, makes his heart drop down to the black hole spreading from his gut, because he’s never seen Eliott have even a single drink before. He’s never seen him like this.

“Lucas.”

Émile appears at his side, gripping onto his elbow and pulling him into a small alcove near the door.

“Hey.” He says, pulling her into a hug. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Émile pulls back, shaking her head. “I’m fine.” She pokes her head out of the alcove, eyes scanning the pub. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Lucas follows her gaze, to where Eliott has stood shakily from the table, and his now stumbling over to the bar with his empty glass. “He’s drunk.” He says, even thought it’s obvious, looking for confirmation.

“Yeah.” Émile sighs. “Which he normally doesn’t do because he, well.” She runs a hand through her hair, red strands sticking up from the messy braid they were pulled into. “Fuck. I don’t know if he’s told you but it’s really not my place to…” She takes a breath. “He’s been down this week. Really quiet and withdrawn. And that happens you know, that’s okay, but then we all come out today because we just got marks back for our thesis proposals, and as soon as we get here he starts drinking. A lot. Like, I’m pretty sure he’s going to be cut off by the bar soon. Or start a fight, or something.” Her eyes shift to Lucas. “I’m sorry to ask you to do this, but can you please take him home? I tried talking to him earlier, but he wouldn’t listen to me and I thought, since you’re his boyfriend…” She trails off, shrugging helplessly.

Lucas feels himself nodding, but the bravado he felt earlier, when he told Lucille off and burst into the bar, that feeling has withered away to a vast nothing. All Lucas has left is his unanswered messages, and the knowledge that Eliott didn’t even tell him he got his marks back today.

_I don’t know if he’s told you_. Told him what? Has Eliott been struggling more on his thesis? Did something bad happen today? Why does Lucas feel more in the dark with Eliott than he ever has?

He hates to think it, but he wonders if Lucille is right. Maybe this is Eliott taking a break from them, from Lucas, and Lucas is going to make things worse by showing up uninvited, demanding Eliott goes home with him.

He’s suspended, between wanting to stay and wanting to leave, and has no idea what to say to Émile, who doesn’t know a thing about the problems between him and Eliott.

“I can try,” he says finally, because Lucas can see the way the bartender is shaking her head at Eliott, and he can see the tense set of Eliott’s shoulders, and he desperately wants to know whatever is going on inside Eliott’s head that has made him want to get this drunk on a Thursday afternoon. If it’s the same thing that has kept him from responding to Lucas all week.

Émile squeezes his shoulder. “Thank you. I owe you.” She returns to the table in the corner, whispering to two other girls there, who all stare at Lucas as he crosses the tiny pub to the bar, taking deep breaths to steady himself.

He counts down every step that brings them closer together: _five, four, three, two…_

“Eliott.”

If it’s possible, Eliott’s shoulders tense even more. He turns slowly, so slowly from his spot at the bar, and when his eyes land on Lucas, there’s an unreadable expression pooled in their depths.

“What are you doing here?”

Lucas briefly meets the eyes of the bartender. She makes a cutting motion behind Eliott, a sign that they’re not serving him anymore. A sign to get him out of there.

“I’m here to take you home,” Lucas says, going right for the direct point, holding Eliott’s eyes even though he can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest.

Eliott laughs, loud but humourless. “You’re going to take me home, okay. Like you’re what, my chaperone? Like you’re my dad?”

Lucas focuses on keeping his expression neutral, but he feels himself bristling. “You’ve had a lot to drink. Your friends are worried about you. So, if you want, you can come home with me. But Eliott, I don’t think you can stay here.”

Eliott doesn’t laugh this time. His eyes drift back to the table in the corner, landing on Émile, who’s staring back at him with her arms crossed. When his eyes return to Lucas, they’re as hard as stone.

Eliott opens his mouth, and Lucas already knows he’s going to say something that will hurt him.

“Well, that’s sweet.” Eliott says sharply. “Thanks for you concern, but I’m fine. I don’t need to be monitored by my boyfriend like I’m his _patient_.” The last word spits out his mouth like venom.

“That’s not what I’m doing.” Lucas argues, keeping his voice low. “I was asked to come here by your friends, okay? And I came because I care about you. If something is going on, I want you to tell me about it. I want to help you.” Lucas’ voice cracks, and he tries to cough to mask it. “This is what we do, remember? We try to be honest with each other. We take care of each other.”

Eliott looks at Lucas like he just punched him in the gut.

It aches. Lucas hates what’s happening between them, this mess of miscommunication and misunderstanding. Just a few weeks ago they were cuddling in Lucas’ bed and Lucas had been unfathomably happy. Now they’re in a pub, and Eliott is drunk and he’s not talking to Lucas and Lucas has no idea what he did wrong.

Lucas just wishes he could hold him.

But he has a feeling that’s not an option here, and he steels himself, puts on an impassive face. “Listen. You can stay here, keep drinking what’s left on that table and inevitably get kicked out by the bar staff. Or you can come outside with me and I’ll get you a taxi home.”

Lucas waits him out, watching as Eliott’s alcohol-laden brain mulls over Lucas’ voice in his head.

“I would take the taxi, if I were you.” The bartender says flatly, towel-drying a pint glass. “You’re dreaming if you think we’ll keep serving you in here.”

Eliott’s head drops low on his shoulders.

“Fine.”

Lucas waits for him to get his jacket, and say bye to his friends, getting an appreciative nod from Émile that travels around the table when it becomes clear the Eliott is leaving with him.

“Get home safe!” One of the girls calls as they leave, and Lucas waves at her.

Eliott doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t speak while they stand in front of the pub, Lucas desperately trying to flag down a taxi at rush hour, doesn’t protest when Lucas finally guides him into one, even though the drive to Eliott’s place will be ten minutes at the most, and Eliott normally hates taking taxis.

Lucas hands the driver enough money for the trip and leans slightly into Eliott’s window, peering in to where he’s folded into the far corner of the back seat.

“I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” Lucas says gently. _Please answer me when I do_, he doesn’t say.

Eliott nods.

“Alright.” Lucas taps a hand to the door. “Um, yeah okay.” He takes a step back, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, shivering. “Goodnight, Eliott.”

Eliott mumbles a _bye_ and the driver pulls away into the traffic.

Lucas waits until he can no longer see their taillights. He considers going back inside the pub, maybe getting a drink, ironically enough, but he doesn’t think he wants to be around people right now. He doesn’t have the energy for it.

So he pops his headphones in, zips up his jacket, and walks home.

Basile and Arthur are over when he gets back to the apartment, playing Catan with Yann in the kitchen, in the middle of what looks like an intense trade negotiation.

“If you give me one wheat,” Basile is pleading with Yann, “just one, then I will give you three sheep. _Three_.”

“I don’t need sheep,” Yann counters. He nods at Lucas as he comes in. “What I need is stone.”

“But I want to keep my stone!” Basile complains, thumping his forehead down on the table.

Arthur reaches a fist out for Lucas to bump. “You came at a good time. I’m about to crush these losers.”

Lucas laughs, but it sounds empty and flat to his own ears. Basile raises his head to frown at him.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Lucas shrugs his jacket off and goes for a beer from the fridge, cracking it open and throwing himself down into the last free chair at the table.

Yann is staring at him, in that way he does where it’s clear he can see through every layer of Lucas’ bullshit. “No, come on. You’ve been having a really rough week. Is it Eliott still?”

That gets Arthur and Basile to snap both their gazes back to Lucas.

“Have you guys talked yet?” Basile asks.

Lucas sighs and drops his head down. He’s annoyed at first, because he knows what the boys will be like—they won’t let him off the hook about something he’s keeping bottled up. Not since high school, the stress of Lucas’ coming out and the disintegration of his parents’ marriage had him seconds away from breaking. And he realizes, with his head resting on top of a stack of Catan cards, that he wants to talk about this. He doesn’t want to be alone in it.

“Yeah. Okay.” He lifts his head up, string at a fixed point on the game board, on a line of plastic blue bridges snaking around the hexagons. “We haven’t. Talked. He’s still not answering any of my texts, and I don’t know why—like, I don’t know what I did. But he’s just stopped replying. Completely. And then today I get a text from Émile, this girl he works with who’s also in his program. She asks me to meet her at this pub near campus, because Eliott’s there and she’s worried about him.”

He pauses to take a long swig of his beer. It’s otherwise silent at the table, the three other boys listening intently to him.

“I get there, and Eliott’s drunk. Like, completely shitfaced. He’s with people from his program and they’re all drinking, yeah, but Eliott, he’s at another level. And I’ve never seen him drink before, you know? Oh fucking hell, and I ran into Lucille outside, who basically told me that Eliott will hate me for checking in on him like I’m his babysitter—”

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Arthur interjects. “Who’s Lucille?”

Lucas waves him off. “Someone in his program. But I keep thinking about it, what she said to me, because I haven’t heard from Eliott in days, absolutely nothing, and the first time I see him is because his friend asks me to take him home from the pub because he’s so drunk that the bartenders cut him off.”

He sees Basile wince.

“So,” Lucas swallows. “I put Eliott into a cab. And yeah, I don’t think he was happy to see me. He didn’t want me there.” His throat feels tight, and he swallows again, wills his voice to stay even. “I have no idea what’s going on with him, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can help Eliott because I don’t know if he even wants me around. But I…I’m so worried about him. The way I saw him today, it scared me a little. Not that he was drinking, I’d be a hypocrite if I told him not to do that, but there was something about him that was…unhinged. No, actually that’s the wrong word. It feels like he’s given up on something, but I don’t know what.”

His voice trails off, the thought plaguing his mind—_what if he’s given up on you_—too terrifying for him to even voice aloud.

He takes a fortifying sip from his beer. Yann breaks the silence first.

“Lucas, I’m so sorry, man. I didn’t know it was this bad between you two.”

Lucas shrugs one shoulder. “I didn’t want to tell you guys, at first. I dunno. I thought it would be something Eliott and I could fix easily, like misunderstandings we’ve had before.”

“But now you’re not sure.” Arthur finishes for him.

Lucas sighs. “Yeah.”

“I think you need to talk to him,” Yann says. “Really talk to him.”

Arthur nods in agreement.

“I want to. I really do, but—” Lucas lays both hands flat on the table, his fingers spread wide. “I don’t want to cause him any more stress. It seems like there’s a lot Eliott is dealing with right now, you know? I don’t want to become something else he has to deal with. I just…maybe he needs time. Time away from me.”

“If he needs that,” Yann says firmly, “he should tell you that. He can’t just ghost you, even if he does have his own shit going on.”

“But, I—”

“It’s true.” It’s Basile who interjects this time, his brows furrowed together like he’s very carefully choosing his words. “You’re a human being, Lucas. You’re a part of this relationship, too. You can’t let yourself be treated like shit in order to protect someone else’s feelings.”

Yann and Arthur stare at him. “That was pretty astute, Bas.” Arthur says, clapping him on the shoulder.

Basile shrugs. “Happens once a year.” He takes a handful of potato chips from a bag on the table and points one at Lucas. “But I’m serious, Lucas. Sure, maybe Eliott is going through something right now, something he might not feel comfortable telling you about, or whatever. But you’re his boyfriend. You deserve to be treated with respect, and if he’s not giving that to you? Ask him why.”

“Yes,” Arthur says emphatically. “Exactly.”

“Ask him about it.” Basile repeats, shoving the handful of chips into his mouth. “You’re worried because you don’t know what’s going on? Find out.”

Yann is fist-pumping at the air, crooning in agreement.

“Alright,” Lucas says slowly, a smile touching his lips, small but genuine, cheeks dimpling. “Alright. I will. I’ll talk to him.” He drops his cheeks into his palms. “Thank you for that, guys. Really.”

Basile gives him a thumbs up. “Now,” he says, rubbing his hands together and glancing down at his resource cards. “Does anyone have any clay to trade?”

Lucas doesn’t sleep that night.

Every time he shuts his eyes, he sees Eliott’s face in the taxi, guarded and dispassionate, barely meeting Lucas’ eyes. He shuts his eyes, and he sees Eliott’s face in the pub, frustrated and rueful, dying for another drink. He shuts his eyes, and he sees Eliott’s face when he dropped Lucas at his place after Arthur’s party, soft and attentive and perfect. Too perfect, possibly, to have been anything other than a facade.

Lucas doesn’t sleep that night, because he can’t stop thinking, _how long has Eliott been hiding his feelings from me?_

He leaves his apartment before all the streetlights have turned off, an oversized hoodie thrown on with his sweatpants, a dark grey beanie pulled down low on his forehead.

He doesn’t give Eliott a courtesy text announcing his arrival. He doesn’t do anything except stride purposefully across campus, Basile’s words ringing in his ears.

_You’re worried because you don’t know what’s going on? Find out._

He arrives at Eliott’s front door just as a young woman is leaving, and she doesn’t even look twice at him as she holds the door open, letting him in. Lucas thanks her and he takes the stairs up two at a time, propelled onwards by the nervous energy stinging at his fingertips like an electric shock. He doesn’t stop until he’s at their door, burning from the inside out with frustration, anger, anticipation, fear.

It’s Sofiane who answers the door, already dressed, a mug of tea in his hand.

“Lucas.” He greets, and Lucas can tell from the way he says his name that Sofiane knows something is wrong, that maybe he’s already heard something from Eliott, or maybe he’s just reading it from Lucas, who knows what he must look like: exhausted, strung-out, but determined. “Eliott’s in his room,” Sofiane says quietly, opening the door wider. “He may be asleep still, but. Come in.”

“Thanks,” Lucas says his voice surprisingly hoarse to his own ears. He clears his throat. “Thanks, Sofiane.”

“It’s fine.” Sofiane sets his mug down on the coffee table and reaches for his backpack on the floor. “You know what? I have to be on campus early today anyway, so I’ll go.” Lucas opens his mouth to protest, but Sofiane knocks softly on Idriss’s door. “Idriss? Let’s head out.”

Idriss comes out of his room not looking nearly as ready to take on the day as Sofiane, but he’s dressed, with his laptop in his hand, and when he sees Lucas, he freezes. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Right.” Idriss disappears back into his room and comes back with a bag, shoving the laptop inside. “Yeah, we’ll go, and you guys can…” He and Sofiane exchange a look. “Talk it out.”

“You don’t have to leave.” Lucas sighs. “It’s barely after seven.”

“No, we uh, we have a thing.” Idriss waves a hand vaguely. “Like, a…thing. Anyway,” he grabs his jacket off a peg in the hall and opens the front door, “good luck, Lucas. We’re rooting for you.” And before Lucas can ask what that means, he and Sofiane disappear in a flurry of denim jackets and wool scarves.

The dust settles in strange way when they leave, like it’s already preparing to move again for Lucas, like the entire apartment is holding it’s breath for whatever will come next.

He goes to Eliott’s door, knocks once, and opens it.

Eliott is at his desk, wearing boxers, a hoodie and a pair of calf-high wool socks. He doesn’t turn around at the intrusion.

“I thought you guys left, what the hell—”

“Hi.”

And just like yesterday, Eliott stiffens, his head sinking low on his shoulders. It’s agonizing to look at. Lucas wants to run his hands under his sweater, to knead out the tension running down his spine and press kisses between his shoulder blades. His entire being yearns.

_God_. He grips onto the door frame. “How are you feeling?”

Eliott still doesn’t turn around. “I’m fine.”

Lucas debates about asking something else, something easy, but he hears Basile’s voice in his head again, and he dives in deep. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

Past Eliott’s shoulder, Lucas sees him flip over whatever sketch he’d been working on, pushing it to the side and then finally turning around. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he’s been awake all night. For one wild moment, Lucas wonders if he’s still drunk.

“Why did you come last night?”

Lucas holds his gaze. “Émile texted me.”

Eliott sighs, tilting his head back on his shoulders.

“Because she was worried about you, Eliott.” Lucas barrels on, taking a step into the room. “And so was I, honestly, because you haven’t been answering any of my texts, all week, and then I see you, blitzed out of your mind at three in the afternoon.”

“That’s hardly an unusual thing for a university student to do.” Eliott says drily.

“Alright yeah, maybe not, but it is when you’ve been stressed out, barely sleeping and,” Lucas’ voice rises slightly, “_ignoring your boyfriend’s texts_.”

“Yeah I’ve been stressed out!” Eliott stands abruptly from his desk, his limbs unfolding in a way that looks painful, like he really has been sat there all night. “In case you haven’t noticed, I have a shit-ton of work to do, plans to make for what I’ll do after I graduate, parents breathing down my neck and I just. Can’t. _Think!_” Eliott throws his arms out. “So yeah, I went out and I got drunk. Because I didn’t know what else do. Can I be allowed to do that?”

“You could…” Lucas takes another hesitant step forward, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. “You could talk to me, Eliott. You could have talked to me about this. I could’ve tried to help.”

“How?” Eliott wheels on Lucas, his voice high and desperate. “Literally what could you do to help?”

“I don’t know.” Lucas says tersely, voice straining with the effort to stay calm. “But I could be there for you. I could take care of you.”

He’s not expecting the reaction those words get, how Eliott’s face darkens, mouth setting in a firm line.

“You want to take care of me? Is that what you want? To nurture your helpless boyfriend like a dying houseplant?”

“Eliott.” Lucas spreads his hands out in front of himself, horrified. “What the fuck, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“You know, I’m a person.” Eliott continues, eyes fixed on a point beyond Lucas’ shoulder, as though he didn’t hear a word Lucas said. “I’m not whatever fantasy you’ve made me out to be in your head. I’m not a biology experiment you can take home and prod at until it does something you like.”

Lucas is staring at Eliott, his mouth hanging open, his ears are ringing. _Where is this coming from?_

“Eliott,” he says pleadingly, “when have I ever made you feel this way? Because that’s the last thing I would want to do, I promise you. I care about you. I’m with you because I like you. I’m sorry, if it was something I said, or something I did, but Eliott I need you to know, I would never think—”

Eliott cuts him off with a frustrated sound, his eyes closing tightly. “It’s not working, between us. Don’t you get it?”

Oh no.

No, no.

This is not happening.

The black hole that began as a feeling in Lucas’ gut threatens to swallow his entire body. His voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Eliott.”

“I think we need to break up.”

Lucas’ mouth is gaping open. His entire body has gone cold. “Why?”

Eliott stares at him. “Why?”

“Yeah.” Lucas says, and he gains a bit of momentum, uses it to make himself sound stronger than he feels. “Why? Tell me why you’re doing this. Give me one reason, Eliott, because I can’t think of any. You and me, we’re—we’re so good together. You know we are. You’re the one who said we’re made for each other, and now, suddenly, you’re going to dump me? Tell me _why_.”

Eliott turns away from him. He grips onto the back of his desk chair so tightly his knuckles whiten. “Because I don’t want to be with you anymore. That should be enough.”

That’s the exact moment when what’s left of Lucas’ heart breaks in half.

All of his momentum, his strength, evaporates from the room. “How long…” He can’t get the words out and he swallows, tries again. “How long have you felt this way?

“A while.” Eliott still won’t look at him. “Since the semester started.”

The pieces of Lucas’ heart break again, fragments splintering down to smaller fragments, deep cuts with every word. He doesn’t want to accept that this is happening. This can’t be happening, not after everything he and Eliott have shared.

This time was supposed to be different. This was supposed to be the time it worked.

“I don’t believe you,” Lucas says, the words shaking on their way out of his mouth. He wills himself to take another step forward. “Do you remember when you came over that night in September? When you first told me you were stressed out? And I took care of you, not because I had to but because that’s what we do for each other. We take care of each other and we try to be honest with each other.”

Eliott doesn’t say anything.

“And you…” Lucas chokes back a sob. “That night you asked me if I would still like you, if I knew everything about you, and Eliott I meant what I said. I would. No matter what you think you need to protect me from, no matter what you think I won’t be able to handle, Eliott I promise I can—”

“Get out.”

Lucas freezes mid-sentence, mouth hanging open in shock. “What?”

Eliott’s body is so tense he’s shaking, his chair squeaking against his tightening grip. “I said get out. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Eliott, please don’t do this, we haven’t finished talking about—” _What if I tell you I love you? Can I stay?_

“I’m done talking. I’m done with us. Done with you.”

When Lucas doesn’t move from his spot, too shock an devastated and disbelieving to contemplate it, Eliott’s voice lashes out like a whip.

“_Leave. Please._”

There’s nothing for it. No words Lucas can drum up that will unravel the knot of tension between them, no fight he can conjure from his exhausted body that will be stronger than the conviction in Eliott’s voice.

There’s nothing he can do.

So Lucas Lallemant dumps the last broken pieces of his heart on Eliott Demaury’s floor, and he leaves, as quickly and silently as he arrived.

There’s a numbness that carries him all the way down Eliott’s stairs, out to the street, past the perimeter of campus. He barely registers anything around him: the sounds of traffic, the excited conversations of students, a rumbling of distant rainclouds encroaching on the pale sun.

It’s not even eight in the morning, but Lucas doesn’t register that either. He was in Eliott’s apartment for years. He was in there for five minutes.

Someone on a scooter almost hits him and he doesn’t even look up at them, doesn’t stop his slow, robotic pace.

He feels nothing at all. It’s a relief, really. A kindness the universe is giving him.

He doesn’t hear it, at first when someone calls his name, doesn’t hear it until they’re right at his ear, pulling at his elbow.

“Lucas?”

It’s Celine, staring at Lucas with her face creased in concern, a takeaway coffee clutched in her hand.

“Hi.” Lucas says faintly.

“Are you alright?” Celine moves her hand to his shoulder, steadying him. Lucas hadn’t even realized he was swaying on the spot.

“M’fine.”

“Lucas?” Another voice joins in the haze and there’s Idriss, also holding a takeaway coffee, wearing the same pinched expression of concern.

“Idriss.” Lucas says, and he almost laughs.

“What happened?” Idriss asks intently, stepping close to Lucas and lowering his head towards him.

Lucas shrugs. “It ended.”

Silence. Lucas keeps his gaze locked on a pin on Idriss’s jacket, a tiny pride flag sitting just above his left pocket.

“Oh darling, no. You two broke up?” Celine asks, and Lucas opens his mouth to say something sarcastic, biting, but there’s another voice approaching, another person saying his name.

“Trouble in paradise, Lucas?”

Lucas takes back what he said about the universe before. The universe sucks. It sucks because he and Eliott aren’t together, not anymore, and there’s Benoît coming towards him like a tsunami.

“Shit.” Idriss mutters, and Celine shoots a look past him, her eyes narrowing when she sees Benoît.

“Fuck off, Marchand.” She snaps at him. “I’m sure there’s a sewer you can crawl into around here.”

Benoît ignores her, coming right up to them, staring at Lucas like he’s a winning lottery ticket. “Got dumped by Demaury, huh? I guess that was only a matter of time.”

Idriss looks two seconds away from punching him.

“Leave me alone, Ben.” Lucas mumbles. Everything is too loud, too much, and he just wants to be alone. He needs to be alone.

“Did he figure it out, Lucas? How fucked up you are? How needy and desperate you are? How you’ll do just about anything to get a guy to stick around, and I do mean anything—”

Idriss doesn’t punch him, but he does yank him back by the hood of his jacket, away from Lucas.

“Listen here, you shit.” Idriss hisses, bending down so he can look Benoît in the eye. “I don’t want to see you near Lucas, you got it? You don’t talk to him, you don’t take the same stairs as him, you don’t even think about him. Fucking nothing.”

“Idriss.” Celine says lowly, glancing around at the small crowd of students watching them.

Idriss sighs and releases him, shaking his hand out like he just touched something particularly unpleasant.

Benoît straightens his hood, giving Lucas a pitying smile. “I’m not trying to be mean, you know. It’s just the truth isn’t it, Lucas? Some people are meant to be alone, and well, you’re one of those people.”

Celine inhales sharply. Idriss looks like he’s winding up for the punch. Lucas steps between them, staring at Benoît with as much anger as he can gather up from the dregs of his energy.

“Maybe you’re right.” Lucas tells him quietly. “But if I’m one of those people, so are you. You’ll always be alone, because nothing exists inside of you except selfishness and loathing. You, you’re…” _Like my father. What he’s become._ “You’re loveless."

Benoît’s mouth presses into an angry line, his eyes narrowing at Lucas.

“You should leave.” Idriss says behind Lucas, drawing himself up to his full height, looming over them. “Now.” Benoît does leave, without another word, and it would normally be a proud moment for Lucas, a victory over one of the ghosts rattling chains under his bed, but he’s stuck on Idriss’s words, on how they mirrored Eliott’s.

_Leave. Please._

Lucas watches Benoît leave and feels nothing, and is that how Eliott felt when Lucas left?

The sweet, floating numbness is fading. Lucas can feel unbearable pain coming like the storm building in the sky.

“Lucas.” Celine is reaching for him, that same concerned look etched into her pretty features and Lucas can’t. He can’t right now.

“I’m sorry.” He steps out of her reach. He has to get out of here. He has to be alone. He has to—“I have to go.”

He takes off at a run, ignoring the calls of his name chasing him with the dead leaves, hues of brown and gold kicked up by his heels. He runs until he’s on the other side of campus, runs until he feels his lungs burning, runs until he’s on his street, rounding the corner of his building and pressing himself against the stone wall, his knees giving out and his body sliding to the ground. He grips tightly onto his legs, his ribs shuddering with aching, pained breaths.

He begins to cry, heaving sobs that wrack his forwards and backwards. He cries, feels the black hole finally consume him completely, a mess of boy with misery pooling into his veins, seeping to his skin, pouring from his eyes, lost to the hopelessness of history repeating itself.

_It was supposed to be different this time._

Back across campus, inside another building, is another body collapsing to the ground, another pair of lungs rattling with violent sobs. Another heart, splintered into pieces.

Someone else, thinking, _Why did I think it would be different this time?_

Lucas locks himself in his bedroom for the entire weekend.

His phone continuously buzzes with texts and missed calls from Celine, Idriss, Imane, Sofiane, Basile, Arthur, Emma, Alexia, Daphné and Manon, but he ignores them all. He even gets a voicemail from Émile, but he doesn’t listen to it.

He keeps looking when it buzzes, though. Keeps hoping.

Yann comes to his door a few times, knocking gently and telling Lucas that he’s going out for a few hours and asking if he needs anything. A few times, he leaves food outside of Lucas’ door, small covered plates that are warm to the touch when Lucas picks them up. He eats them the same as he goes to the bathroom and refills his glass of water from the tap. Slowly, robotically, and then he’s disappearing again, covering himself with his duvet and sticking his headphones into his ears.

He cries, smothering sobs into his pillows and curling into himself tightly, wishing for anything in the world that he wasn’t living this moment, that he could be in someone else’s life. Someone who isn’t in love.

He opens his camera roll and stares at the photos he has of them together, lingering on one in particular that’s a selfie of them in Lucas’ bed, their heads nestled closely together, their smiles soft and intimate and happy. So fucking happy.

He deletes it.

Then he turns up his music and closes his eyes.

He skips his Monday class, but leaves his bedroom while the apartment is empty, bringing his duvet onto the couch and putting on a movie, barely paying attention to the screen as it plays.

He eats three bowls of cereal and falls asleep before lunch, the movie replaying automatically from the DVD menu, and that’s how Yann finds him when he returns home from class. He doesn’t say anything at first, just sits down on the edge of the sofa and runs a hand through Lucas’ hair until he wakes, blinking dazedly up at him.

“I’m going to make a stir fry for dinner.” Yann tells him quietly. “Do you want some?”

“Okay,” Lucas whispers.

He watches from the sofa as Yann turns on a few lights in the apartment and cracks open the kitchen window. The sounds of chopping and sizzling can just be heard over the movie Lucas still isn’t paying attention to.

He checks his phone.

A few texts from the gang, one from Imane, one from Yann telling him about the stir-fry.

There’s one from his mom, with a gardening meme attached, that she apparently found on something called a “cottage-core” blog she’s really excited about.

**_The internet is a great place_**, she says in the text.

It’s not what Lucas is looking for, not the person who’s name he was hoping to see, but it makes him smile.

Yann comes into the living room a half-hour later with two steaming bowls in his hands. He hands one to Lucas and sets his own on the table, moving to the TV.

“I’m feeling like watching Mad Max. Unless you want to finish what’s on?”

Lucas shakes his head, blowing gently on his food. “I wasn’t really paying attention to it.”

“Great.” Yann changes discs over, and then joins Lucas on the couch, folding himself under the duvet. They eat their stir-fry and rice and watch a two-hour car chase in silence. When Lucas is finished Yann clears their bowls, and returns to the sofa to let Lucas fall asleep on his chest.

And it’s okay. Today, it doesn’t hurt so bad.

The next day is different.

Lucas takes a shower first thing in the morning, determined to go to class, but then gets lost leaning against the tiled wall, remembering the last time he and Eliott took a shower together, the suds fight that led to Eliott stroking his hair back that led to them doing a strange sort of slow dance under the spray. Lucas can feel the phantom touch of Eliott’s hands on his back, swears he can hear his laugh over the sound of the water.

It _aches_. It’s unbearable.

He only makes it to class because Yann makes him, waiting for Lucas to finish in the shower and waiting outside of his door for him to get dressed. It’s a little bit much, maybe, the way Yann is hovering around him, but Lucas is infinitely grateful for it. He runs into Basile and Arthur after his seminar and they force him to go with them to lunch and he’s grateful for that too, for how they treat him like nothing has changed, like everything is normal.

Because Lucas is realizing that one day, it will have to be. One day it might not hurt so much and one day he’ll stop looking for Eliott’s name on his phone and one day this will be his life again. Going to class, spending time with the boys, going to work at the bookstore. Not alone, but without Eliott. With a piece of himself missing that might never be filled.

He thinks that, more than anything, is the hardest thing to imagine.

But what can he do, except pick up the pieces of his shattered self and try to move on?

Everything changes, as it usually does, on a Friday.

Lucas is in his room, dumping the contents of his backpack out onto the floor, trying to find his earbuds, when he sees a folded piece of paper fall out of his lab notebook, skidding across the wood floor.

He squints down at it, thinking it might be an assignment sheet he forgot about, or something he meant to throw away.

When he unfolds the paper, he sees that the first word written at the top is _Lucas_, and he can’t breathe.

_Lucas,_

_I don’t know where to start._

_I love saying your name, you know. I don’t think there’s a better sound in the entire universe._

_Lucas._

_You wanted to know why. Why I broke up with you. I lied when you asked me. I said that it was because I don’t want to be with you anymore, but that’s not true. You’re the only person I want to be with. You’re the only one._

_I’ll tell you the truth. I’m bipolar. I was diagnosed years ago, when I was a teenager. I take medication for it. Sometimes I get assignment extensions because of it._

_I’m always afraid the people will see me differently, after I tell them. Like I’m broken. So I didn’t tell you because I was so scared of that happening, so scared I would lose you. But the closer we became, the more I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know me. All of me. But then we had that night at Arthur’s party, when you were talking about your mom, and I realized I was wrong. If I told you, it would hurt you. You wouldn't be able to handle it._

Lucas stops, eyes blurring as he stares down at the page.

It’s shocking, in a way that Eliott means it to be, cutting through the white noise in Lucas’ head right to his core, an arrow of truth set to wound. To break.

It’s shocking but at the same time, it’s the truth that ties together so many things that had happened in the last few months, moments where Eliott was alluding to it without Lucas even realizing.

When he said there was something he had to tell Lucas, something he wasn’t ready to share yet.

When he asked Lucas if it would change how he felt about him.

When he told Lucas about his Instagram, how he went offline for a while because _I didn’t want people to see me_.

The very first night Lucas met him, still recovering from his breakup with Ben, sharing a joint in Celine’s upstairs hallway. _Everyone has challenges they have to face. None of it makes you less of a person or makes you less worthy of love. Trust me, I’d know._

“Eliott,” Lucas whispers, the page crinkling in his shaking hands. He sniffs and wipes the back of his hand across his eyes. He’s not even sure there’s a word for what he’s feeling right now, a sadness so heavy and hollow that Lucas feels he could turn to stone from it.

He keeps reading.

_Maybe that’s unfair to you, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t put that pressure on you. I couldn’t force you to deal with me, the way I am. I couldn’t make myself watch as you started liking me less and less, and started seeing me only as a burden. Something to care for just because you have to care for it._

_I can’t do that to you. I can’t be with you. Not like that._

_I hurt you in a way I know you can move on from. One day, you’ll meet someone new, and they’ll be healthy and happy and whole and they’ll take care of you. They’ll love you the way you deserve to be loved._

_Because Lucas, you deserve more love than anyone. You deserve everything._

_I’m sorry I can’t be the one to give it to you._

At the bottom of the page is a drawing, of a raccoon sitting on the surface of the moon, it’s tiny legs dangling off the side. It’s similar to the drawing Lucas found on Eliott’s desk, the first night he spent with him, only in this one, there’s a hedgehog sitting next to the raccoon.

Underneath it, says:

_Somewhere, there’s a universe where we get it right. Somehow._

There’s a line that’s scratched out, rewritten, then scratched out again, and rewritten a final time.

_Because in every single universe, I know I’ll fall in love with you._

The paper flutters to the ground from Lucas’ hands.

“Oh.” He’s shaking. “Oh my god.”

He paces to his desk, paces back to the middle of his room. He picks the paper up from the ground and smoothes his thumb over it, over the little raccoon’s face.

“Oh my god.” He whispers again to himself. His eyes scan the note again from top to bottom. The heavy sadness inside of him is a living thing, squeezing tightly around his lungs, digging deep into his chest cavity to find one last shard of his heart. “Oh my _fucking_ god.”

But in the midst of the living sadness, there’s something new building within him, a burning core, tightly compacted and impossibly bright.

If the vast nothingness that grew inside of him before was a black hole then this, this is the birth of a star.

He runs his fingertips over the line written underneath the drawing. A tear splashes down onto the page, smudging the pencil slightly.

He’s been telling himself for so long that there’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing he can say to Eliott to make it better, no choice he has but to move on. He tried to fight for them, and it didn’t work.

But what he’s realizing is he didn’t fight enough. He didn’t fight for the right thing.

The last six months play through Lucas’ mind like a montage. Every time they laughed together. Every time they fell asleep together. Every time they kissed. Every time Lucas looked at Eliott and thought, _he could be the love of my life._

(If you know someone loves you, but they don’t love themselves, they don’t believe they deserve love in return, then what can you do other than tell them they are wrong? In that, there truly is no choice at all.)

“Oh my fucking god.” He says aloud, one last time, and then he’s folding the sheet of paper, sticking it into the pocket of his jeans, and he’s grabbing his phone.

He wheels into the hallway, throwing his jacket on and stumbling as he tries to get his feet into his shoes, slamming his elbow into the wall and ignoring the pain that flares from the contact.

“Lucas?” Yann sticks his head out of his room. “What are you doing?”

“I have to go.” Lucas says in a rush. “Yann, I think I have to cancel on the arcade, I have to—” He cuts himself off to stare at him, overwhelmed, his shoes not on properly, his jacket hanging off one shoulder, a folded piece of paper weighing his pocket down like a promise. “He wrote me a letter.”

Yann is silent for an entire minute.

“I can only hope,” he says at length, “that he wrote you the best fucking letter that’s ever been written. A letter that puts Mr. Darcy to shame.”

Lucas blinks at him. “What?”

Yann makes a face. “_Pride and Prejudice?_ No? Alright, whatever.” He drums his fingers against the door frame. “What I’m saying is, if what’s in that letter is enough for you, enough to make you want to go to him then Lucas,” he grins now, wide and teasing. “You better go to him.”

So, that’s exactly what Lucas does.

Once he gets his shoes on properly.

This walk to Eliott’s is unlike the last one. There is no rush of anger, no righteous flurry of energy, no spearheading of a crusade to find the truth.

Lucas has the truth now. He keeps it tucked between the folds of Eliott’s note, so aware of its presence in the pockets of his jeans that it’s like a second heartbeat.

The truth is, Eliott is bipolar. The truth is, he kept it from Lucas, he broke up with Lucas because he was scared to tell him. The truth is, he was afraid Lucas would abandon him because of that, or stay only out of obligation. The truth is, Lucas can see where he’s coming from with that line of thinking. He understands.

There’s no one to let him in at Eliott’s building. He has to call up.

He has to wait for a while, shivering in the late October air only in his thin jacket and sweater, but eventually the line is picked up.

“Yeah?” Idriss. He sounds rushed. Out of breath.

“It’s Lucas.”

There’s a pause.

“I need to see Eliott.” Lucas continues. “Is he home?”

“Yeah.” Idriss’s voice is faint in the static of the intercom, hesitant. “Yeah, come up.”

Lucas takes the stairs one at a time, keeping his breaths measured and even. He reaches into his pocket to check Eliott’s letter is still there, that he didn’t hallucinate it, and when his fingers brush against the paper, that star taking shape in his chest burns.

It feels good. It feels like hope. It feels like being alive.

Their door is propped open on the chain when he gets there, and he slowly opens it, peeking his head inside first.

“Lucas, you can come in.”

Idriss is standing in the living room, his arms crossed over his chest, and Lucas’ brow furrows when he sees Celine sitting on the arm of the sofa, her hair falling out of its messy bun in thick strands. Lucas squints. Her turtleneck is on inside out.

“What the fuck,” Lucas starts to say, a million questions bubbling in his throat, but his voice dies when someone else comes out of the kitchen, wearing sweatpants, wool socks and a burgundy t-shirt.

Lucas recognizes it. That’s his shirt.

“What are you doing here?” Eliott asks, but he sounds so different than he did the last time Lucas saw him. He doesn’t sound ready for a fight, he sounds like he’s already been defeated, left by the side of the road to be collected. His posture is slouched, his head and shoulders curling downwards, his face is pale and his hair is sticking up from his head in messy spikes.

He looks like Lucas has this past week. Like he’s barely hanging on.

“I…” Lucas digs into his pocket for the letter, unfolding it carefully and reverently in his hands, smoothing his thumb over the Lucas written at the top. Eliott’s eyes widen when he sees it.

“I got your letter.” Lucas says quietly.

“You read it?” Eliott looks surprised, his eyes darting from the letter, to Lucas’ face, and back down again. “I wasn’t sure if you…” His voice trails off, his lips pressing down into a thin line.

Celine and Idriss exchange a weighted glance.

“Well. Our work here is done,” Idriss says, striding out of the living room to grab his shoes. “We’ll be going now.”

Celine stands from the sofa, crosses to Lucas and grips his hands, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You have the heart of a lion, Lucas,” she whispers to him. “You can figure this out.”

She squeezes his hands once, then lets go. Idriss is holding her coat out to her, sending Eliott a complicated look across the apartment.

Lucas really needs everyone to stop exchanging indecipherable glances. It’s throwing him off, making him feel like he’s entered into a play that’s already in its second act.

“What is going on with all of you?” He asks, frustration colouring his words in a murky green.

“Nothing.” Idriss says quickly, ushering Celine ahead of him out the door. He winks at Lucas. “Nothing at all.”

The door slams behind him, and he hears furious conversation from the other side of it, growing fainter with Idriss and Celine’s receding footsteps. Lucas tears his eyes away from the door slowly, the letter creasing in his hands as he turns back to Eliott.

“Um.” Lucas starts, but nearly chokes on his words when Eliott’s eyes snap up to meet his. In the morning light streaming in from the windows, they’re a pale, stormy grey, intense in the way they always are, like they can see right into the deepest corners of Lucas’ heart.

But, well, his heart is actually—

“You really hurt me, you know.”

Eliott’s eyes drop. His shoulders curl forwards.

Lucas looks down as well, back to the drawing, to the sweet faces of their animal counterparts. “You broke my heart,” Lucas continues, smoothing a corner of the paper down. “And it sucks. You hurt me in a way that no one else has been able to, because I care about you in a way I’ve never cared for anyone else.”

He raises his eyes. Eliott has his hands clenched at his sides, body one taut line.

Lucas softens his voice. “After reading this,” he takes a step forward, “I realized that I…I hurt you too. Without even realizing it.”

Eliott looks confused at that, standing at the entrance to his kitchen, wearing Lucas’ shirt even though he’s the one who dumped Lucas. He looks like he’s stepped into a dream by accident, staring at Lucas with a deep crease between his brows. It spurs Lucas on.

“What I said about my mom. That hurt you.” This is the truth that Lucas really hates, that he had no idea what his words meant to Eliott when he said them. “I was drunk, yeah, but I said something that hurt you. It made you think that I wouldn’t want to be with you if I found out you’re bipolar. But Eliott, that’s not,” he takes another step forward. Eliott doesn’t move. “That’s not true. I still want to be with you. I still love you.”

The words hang in the thin air between them, heavy and honest and hurting.

Lucas watches as Eliott’s eyes widen, frozen, processing, then he watches as his face crumples.

“Lucas.” Eliott says, and in his mouth, Lucas’ name sounds like heartache.

Lucas can’t stand it. He rushes forward, wanting nothing more than to fold Eliott into his arms, to whisper it over and over again into his ear, _I love you I love you I love you._

But Eliott takes a step back, holds out a flat palm between them, a stray tear sliding down his cheek. “No. No, Lucas, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do.”

Eliott shakes his head. “You say that now, that you still want to be with me. Okay, but what about in a month? A year? What about the next time I have a manic episode, and you don’t know how to handle it? How to handle me? Remember how much I was able to hurt you? You don’t know that it won’t happen again.”

He sounds so sure of it. So _fucking_ sure.

“You don’t know what’s going to happen.” Lucas argues, taking another step forward so he’s right up against Eliott’s outstretched hand, his skin almost brushing against Lucas’ jacket. “No one does. Eliott, the planet could die in a year and then none of this will matter. You could hurt me again, or I could hurt you, but nothing is guaranteed. If we…” Lucas licks his lips, his voice barely above a whisper. “If we love each other, don’t you think that’s the only thing that matters? If we want to be together, we can learn how to be together all over again, as we really are. Everything else…I mean, everything else is stardust, isn’t it?”

Eliott’s hand is shaking. His cheeks are wet with tear tracks and he look exhausted and he’s shaking, and Lucas loves him so much.

He startles at a gentle pressure on his chest, Eliott’s hand moving forward into the centimetre that separated them, sinking into the material of Lucas’ jacket. The contact hits Lucas like a live wire.

“I don’t…” Eliott’s voice is small, his eyes trained on his hand as it slides up Lucas’ jacket to the side of his neck. At the touch of his fingertips on Lucas’ skin, the both let out shaking exhales. “I don’t want to become a burden to you.” Eliott says quietly. “I don’t want that to happen, Lucas. Ever.”

“You’re not a burden.” Lucas murmurs. He’s fighting the urge to lean into Eliott’s hand, to nuzzle into his palm and press a kiss to his pulse point, to feel his heartbeat under his lips. “You’re a person, just like you said. You’re complicated and unpredictable and imperfect. Like I am.”

A ghost of a smile touches Eliott’s lips. His hand travels up Lucas’ neck to cup his cheek. “I think I might be a bit more unpredictable than you are.”

“Maybe,” Lucas says. “But I don’t know, I order something different every time I’m at Starbucks.”

The smiles grows a little more, reaches up for the corners of Eliott’s eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I love you.” Lucas says seriously, softly, his eyes fixed on Eliott’s. “And I want to be with you. I know you’re scared, I know that it won’t be easy, but I want us to try to be together. I think we’re…” Lucas blinks backs his own tears, mentally orders them to give him a minute, just one minute to get this out. “I think we’re really good together, Eliott.”

When Eliott smiles at him, a full, lopsided smile full of love and relief, Lucas can feel the tiny shards of his heart melting back together.

“We’re something special.” Eliott suggests, voice warm and fond. His other hand comes up to Lucas’ face, holding his other cheek.

“Something special.” Lucas agrees, finally allowing himself to arch into Eliott’s hands, rising up onto his toes.

They kiss, and it feels like endless possibility.

___

The thing about Eliott Demaury’s galaxy, is that he wanted to escape it.

Buried down deep in a dark, lonely corner of his mind, was the notion there must be, somewhere, somehow, a different galaxy, a place where Eliott is well. Normal. Whole. Every place he searched in his own universe, every spidery nebula he combed through, always had the same Eliott, with the same fear that no one would ever be able to love him the way he is. That no matter how he dressed himself up, no matter how he tried to change himself, he would always be Eliott, the boy with the broken brain, and he would always wind up alone. Inevitably.

This is Eliott, a star burning out, sketching at his desk on a rainy afternoon, shading the lines of a raccoon sitting on the surface of the moon. Alone.

This is Eliott, his heart latched onto the back of a comet, staring down at Lucas Lallemant as he asks him, _Is there a Lucas in this world that goes to sit with this Eliott?_

_Maybe._

This is Eliott, staring down at Lucas again, in his living room, with slivers of golden sunlight kissing across their cheekbones, touching the tips of their noses, turning Lucas’ eyes the most mesmerizing blue. This is Eliott, as stunned now as he was then, faced with the possibility that, maybe, there is no need for another universe.

Maybe in this one, this Eliott, the person he is now, can let himself be entirely known by another person, and still have them stay.

Maybe he can stretch a hand across the chasm between one galaxy and another, and have a hand meeting him halfway, fingers linking together tight.

Maybe this Eliott, with all of the shooting stars and cloudy nebulas and moondust existing inside of him, won’t be alone after all.

Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading 🧡🧡🧡🧡
> 
> come chat with me anytime [@lepetitepeach](https://lepetitepeach.tumblr.com)


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